


Chivalry

by WhatsHappeningCowboy



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Injury, M/M, Main Quest with Deviations, Romance, Sex, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 86,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9716123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsHappeningCowboy/pseuds/WhatsHappeningCowboy
Summary: Robert Joseph MacCready is a survivor. Alone in the Commonwealth at 22 with a tragic past and a terminally ill child 400 miles away, he’s fought tooth and nail to pull through, done things he isn’t proud of and hurt people who didn’t deserve it. But if nobody cares about him, why should he care about anyone else? As long as the caps are coming in for his son, he can forget his moral compass.And then Chiv Arroyo stumbles into his room in the Third Rail. Loud-mouthed, funny, irritatingly handsome and a terrible shot, he’s got a trail of secrets behind him a mile wide, and enemies in very dangerous places. MacCready’s never wanted to be anything but a survivor. But with Chiv, comes a chance for redemption.





	1. Ghouls

chivalry (/ˈʃɪv(ə)lri/)  
_noun.  
_ the combination of qualities expected of an ideal knight, namely courage, honour, courtesy, justice, and a readiness to help the weak.

 

 

 ‘Chiv! On your left!’

His new employer tried to turn too fast, stumbled, brought up his combat rifle in an unsteady arch and fired off three rapid shots into the brick wall and open doorway another Feral had just rushed out from. MacCready was already sighting down his scope, eyes narrowing to a squint, breath hissing out in a whistle as he squeezed the trigger and the Feral dropped with a gaping hole in the side of its head. He fought to control the tremble in his hands. Chiv shouted something incoherent, regaining his balance and rushing headlong down the ruined street to engage with another three ghouls racing towards them. MacCready took his chance and made a running slide into cover, rust and flaking paint dirtying his clothes as he set his back square against the roof of an overturned car, taking a deep shaky breath before leaning around the side and firing two shots in quick succession.

_Crack. Crack._

The grim satisfaction of hearing the squelch and squeal of them hitting their marks mixed with the fear and adrenaline already coursing through his blood, the heady cocktail making him unable to suppress a wild cry. He leaned out from his cover again in time to see Chiv smash a Feral in the face with the butt of his gun, his unruly black hair pasted to the side of his face with blood and sweat. The sound of the stock breaking through the monster’s skull was sickeningly wet; a boot on a ripe mutfruit. MacCready swallowed his nausea and lined up his shots as another pack rounded the street corner, missing two and catching the third in the shoulder. This was bad. This was so bad. He ducked back behind the car, pressing himself up against the vehicle’s undercarriage, hands fumbling to reload as he begged himself to _think, RJ, think, there’s too many of them, you’re gonna lose him, you’re gonna fail just like all the other times, it’s gonna take a goddamn nuke to take them all out at once, hide behind the car like a damn coward whilst Chiv is torn to -_

He froze. 

The car.

No time to think it through. MacCready leapt out from behind the vehicle, heart racing bullet-quick against his ribs as he yelled, waving his arms madly in the air. Chiv was backed into a boarded-up doorway further down the street, just out of their reach, grey eyes wide and wild as he fired into the writhing mass of Ferals, packed too close for any of the shots to be fatal. MacCready shuddered at the sight of the roiling flesh, the awful sound of the guttural growls and snarls filling his ears the same way they did in his nightmares. Every atom of his body was _screaming_ at him to run as the Ferals turned, their gaping maws sounding their bloodlust and rage at his sudden appearance as they abandoned their quarry and made for his easier target instead. Chiv was staggering out from his cover, confusion painted clear on his face, but looked up at MacCready’s desperate shouts.

‘The car! Shoot the car!’

Arms raised high above his head he gestured frantically to the wrecked vehicle, pleading for the other man to understand. The muscles in MacCready’s legs were twitching, his body swaying as he forced himself to hold his ground. He thought he heard Chiv firing but his head was full of a rushing roar, the Ferals almost upon him, and his frayed nerves broke. He bolted, racing past the pack of startled ghouls, a cry of terror ripping from his throat as he felt their disgusting filthy hands grabbing at him. The sweet spot between his shoulder blades was burning, waiting for the hit that would bring him down, for the pain of the creatures tearing into his body and scattering his limbs across the road; but then he was out of reach, gaining distance as he fled down the street. He heard the first pop and hiss as the fire caught hold in the car’s reactor ( _thank God, it was going to work)_ looked up to see Chiv darting back into his scant cover of the boarded-up doorway and dived in after him. Their bodies slammed painfully together as he pushed himself as far into the cover as he could, his skin crawling, still feeling the phantom hands of the Ferals tugging at his clothes. His forehead cracked against the crumbling brick, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the splintered wood of the boards over the door, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when Chiv’s arm wrapped roughly around his waist and dragged him down into a defensive crouch. Just in time. A deafening thundercrack split the street, the roars of the Ferals cut short as the explosion of the car’s engine engulfed them in a mushroom of fire. A wave of hot stale city air washing over MacCready’s back, scorching the sliver of exposed skin at his neck, and he hissed his pain between his teeth; but the sound was lost in the roar of the explosion. His whole body was shaking. The roaring was still filling his ears. Chiv’s arm tightened around him, fingers digging into his hip, and he lost control. Rearing backwards, he ripped himself free from the other man’s grasp, losing his already unsteady footing and crashing back onto the baking hot floor of the street. All his breath was forced out of him in a rough _oof,_ his chest seizing as he lay helpless in the dirt, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the Ferals to tear him apart.

‘Holy shit. I can’t believe that worked.’

He opened his eyes. Chiv was still crouched in the doorway, his dark grey eyes huge in his fear-paled face, lips parted in wonder as he stared down the street. MacCready pulled himself up onto his elbows, heaving in deep breaths as his wind returned. The car was a smoking ruin of twisted metal, the last fading flames still licking around it. The Ferals were gone, vaporised; a few scattered chunks of rotting flesh and the vile smell hanging in the air the only proof that they had ever been there at all. MacCready let his head drop back as he let out an exaggerated groan.

‘Holy hell, Chiv. I thought we were goners.’

Chiv laughed, voice far too light and casual for the situation, and MacCready felt a stab of annoyance.

‘Take more’n a couple zombies to take me down.’ He stood slowly, wincing as his knee popped, reaching out a hand to MacCready. ‘You good?’

MacCready was far from good. He pointedly ignored Chiv’s hand, pushing himself to his feet, grimacing at the pain in his back. His stomach was still churning, his mouth dry, and the stench of torched ghoul was thick in his nostrils but the rushing in his head was receding. He held his hands out in front of him, watching the tremble fade. He threw Chiv a furious glare, feeling an embarrassed flush start to burn on his cheeks. _Nice little display there, RJ_ , he thought viciously to himself. _What a big, bad mercenary you are._

‘What the fu- _heck_ were you thinking?!’ he snapped, turning on his heel and stalking back down the street to grab his pack from where it had fallen when the attack began. ‘Running into an open space like that! You could have gotten us both killed!’ He tossed the words over his shoulder, rifling through his pack, keeping his face turned away until he could feel the blush fading. ‘You’re lucky I thought of the car!’

He turned back again, slinging his pack roughly over his shoulder, shoving a water bottle and half a vial of Med-X into his employer’s hands. ‘You hire me to watch your back, you have to _listen_ to me when I tell you something’s up!’

Chiv took the water bottle gingerly, a little pout pursing his lips. MacCready tore the cap off his own, taking a deep swig, muttering darkly under his breath. Chiv was trying to look guilty, but the thrill of the explosion and the brush with death had put a slight sparkle in his eyes that betrayed the rush he’d gotten from it all.

‘’M sorry.’

They were quiet for a while, falling into a steady pace as they set off down the street again, sticking close to the buildings. MacCready kept glancing over his shoulder, still half-expecting the pack to reappear. He tried to disguise his nerves by ghosting a hand carefully over the scorched skin on the back of his neck, grumbling to himself. Chiv was running his fingers through the mess of thick black hair on the top of his head, picking out bits of splattered ghoul, flattening it back down over the unevenly shaven sides. His eyebrow was bleeding, a nasty bruise forming around the gash, stark against his sun-tanned skin. Three streets over, his shaky panic finally fading, MacCready sighed.

‘Just...you have to be careful in the city, you know? It isn’t like the rest of the Commonwealth. And you’re a terrible shot. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long in the first place.’

Truthfully, he really didn’t. In the five days they’d been working together, Chiv had proven himself to be ferocious, daredevil and enthusiastic, but _jeez._ His idea of combat technique was ‘shoot everything around the enemy, get angry and hit them in the face with my gun,’ and if that failed it was ‘shout for help from MacCready, who is probably already doing most of the work.’ He was charming, charismatic, likeable despite his often sarcastic tone; but he seemed about MacCready’s age, maybe even a little older, and it was hard to believe he’d survived that long on a silver tongue alone. He’d tried the odd question or comment to try and get his employer to open up further (which wasn’t weird, he told himself, he wanted to know who he was working for was all) but no dice. So far all he’d managed to discover was that he was ‘new to the Commonwealth but not to Massachusetts,’ which made absolutely no sense, and that he lived somewhere near the new settlement of Sanctuary. It was exasperating. But then, MacCready reasoned, he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with information himself. That whole shitshow - er, situation with the Ferals was bound to raise some questions though.

‘So...’

Aaaand here we go. MacCready decided to cut him off at the pass.

‘Hey, if we take a right up here we can skirt around the Common. It’ll take a little longer, but we’ll avoid the pond. Supposed to be something really nasty in there.’

Chiv side-eyed him.

‘Sure. Guess after what happened back there, I should listen to you, right?’

MacCready was determined not to let him win.

‘Damn straight. I know _you_ hired _me_ , but this is a two-way thing. Believe me when I say you need all the advice you can get. Hiring me was the best decision you’ve made so far, I’d say. I’ve saved your ass a hundred times already. I should be charging you by the kill.’

He was rambling, but it worked. Chiv laughed, loud and genuine, the sound bouncing off the city ruins. MacCready couldn’t help but smile back. It was nice to hear laughter for once, as opposed to the threats and curses usually directed his way.

‘You definitely were a bargain, I’ll give you that.’ The streak of blood from Chiv’s eyebrow had dried now, and tugged on his cheek as he spoke. He raised a hand to rub it away, smile dimming a little as he looked at the residue on his fingertips. ‘You aren’t lying about having to save me so often.’

MacCready shrugged.

‘Hey, it’s my job. I protect people who pay me. That’s what I do.’

Chiv kicked a stray can mid-stride, aim perfect for once, and watched it rattle away across the cracked asphalt.

‘I mean it. I know I’m not great at all this stuff. Like, I’d fired a gun before all this, but I’d never really…’ He trailed off into silence. MacCready teetered on the edge of asking just what ‘all this’ was, a burning curiosity in his head, but the sudden radstag-in-floodlights look on Chiv’s face made him hold his tongue. So the guy had secrets. Fine. He’d figure it out eventually.

Of all people, MacCready could understand the desire to keep your past to yourself.

 

***

 

They reached Goodneighbor a half-hour later, the rest of the walk finished in a slightly uncomfortable silence. Chiv had shut down completely after his slip-up and near reveal, and MacCready was still a little on edge, his senses straining for any sounds or signs of impending attack; but as they reached the heavy wooden gates, he finally allowed himself to relax. Darkness was beginning to envelope the city, the sky staining gunpowder black above them. MacCready always thought the town was nicest at this time (if Goodneighbor could ever be described as ‘nice’). Late enough for all the neon signs to glow enticingly above the shops and bars, but not so late that the drunks and thieves were spilling out into the street. Not that he could talk; more often than not, he was part of that group, stumbling out from the Third Rail after another unsuccessful day of unemployment followed by an evening of slurring for Whitechapel Charlie to just charge it all to his tab. Now, though, things were different. He was no longer just another ex-Gunner drowning his sorrows in a dingy bar. Today, he was Robert Joseph MacCready again, cocky crackshot mercenary with a heavy tin of caps in his pocket. He felt a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

‘Robert! You’re back!’

Daisy was waving happily from her shop, her dark eyes lighting up under the electric glow of her shop sign. MacCready felt a flush of warmth towards her as she came out from behind her counter, pulling him into a hug. Chiv grinned and winked at him over her head, and he flipped him off as the petite ghoul turned her back to rustle on a shelf and present them with a box of snack cakes.

‘Aw, Daisy, you don’t have to do that.’

MacCready grabbed them before Chiv could, Daisy clucking her tongue in amusement at his lack of manners.

‘Of course I do. Look at you, you’re skin and bone. Almost as bad as me! Now are you going to tell me where you’ve been the past few days? I missed you stopping by.’ She looked at him expectantly, and he knew what she was thinking; watched the pity cloud her eyes as he slowly shook his head, digging a cake out of the box before half-heartedly offering them to Chiv.

‘Just in the city, Daisy. Chiv - this is Chiv, he hired me,’ he added, and Chiv sprayed crumbs everywhere as he mumbled a hello through a mouthful of cake - ‘...he’s been running jobs for Hancock. We’re about to go turn the last one in.’ He prayed she wouldn’t ask any further, tried to convey with his eyes that no, Chiv didn’t know about Med-Tek, that he didn’t know if he could trust him enough yet. Daisy nodded back, understanding, and he felt a brief flash of relief.

‘Well, I hope things go well for you,’ she said, placing emphasis on her words with a pat on his hand. Suddenly MacCready didn’t want the cakes so much. He shook his head when Chiv tapped him with the box, and the other man turned away to rest his pack on the floor as he rearranged it to find room for them. Daisy took her chance, leaned closer over the counter, voice lowered. ‘Have you got anything you need sending back?’

MacCready nodded, pulling out his tin of caps. Daisy slipped them beneath the counter, out of sight.

‘There’s, uh...there’s a letter in there too,’ MacCready muttered, as Chiv straightened up, looking at the two of them with a little wrinkle between his brows. ‘And a little toy car I found.’

Daisy’s eyes crinkled with sadness.

‘I’ll make sure they get to him safely.’

MacCready gave her a small smile. Daisy was the only person in the entire Commonwealth who knew his secret. She’d been nothing but kind to him from the moment he’d arrived in Goodneighbor, caked in trail-dust from the three-week journey up from the Capital Wasteland, gaunt-eyed and travel-weary and wracked with guilt. She’d allowed him to stay after the caravan had set off for the return journey, MacCready watching them leave through the scope of his rifle, holding back the anguish that he couldn’t go with them. Still, it’d taken him a long time to open up to her; only after he’d signed on with the Gunners did he crack under the desperation that if anything should happen to him, there ought to be someone to pass word on. She’d cried for him as he’d told his story, held his hands and promised she would do everything she could to help, and MacCready had felt lower than dirt when he slunk back into Goodneighbor a few months later as an empty-handed deserter. Still she hadn’t judged him; not for what he’d done with the Gunners, not for what he’d failed to do for his son. She’d given him food, ammo, asked so little in repayment - returning a library book was hardly equal to the value of the goods she’d wasted on him. Nothing he could ever do would repay the kindness she’d shown a skinny, scruffy little waste of space like him. He gently squeezed her hand.

‘I know you will.’

Chiv was shifting restlessly on the spot, watching him expectantly, so MacCready cleared his throat and stepped back from the counter. They still had to see Hancock before they turned in for the night; now wasn’t the time to be standing around getting sentimental. The Feral attack earlier that day had thrown him off-balance, but a strong drink and a safe place to sleep would sort that out.

‘I’ll see you around, Daisy. Thanks again,’ he called over his shoulder as they headed across the market square towards the ancient imposing building that housed the Mayor. Chiv clicked his tongue as they approached, impressed.

‘Damn, I still can’t believe this thing’s still standing. It didn’t take any damage at all?’

Something about his phrasing niggled in the back of MacCready’s mind, but he shrugged one shoulder ‘no’ as he shoved open the heavy door.

‘I guess not. I think Goodneighbor got away pretty lucky back then. It’s time that’s done most of the damage around here.’

‘Ah...yeah. Of course. I...forget how long it’s been since I was here last,’ Chiv murmured, a strange look in his eye. MacCready raised an eyebrow at him.

‘I thought you said you’d never been to the Commonwealth before?’

Chiv coughed.

‘Mmm. Did I say that?’

MacCready squared his shoulders and opened his mouth, but was interrupted by one of the guards, who gestured them up the stairs with his submachine gun in a very pointed message after grilling Chiv as to their intentions. MacCready rolled his eyes as they ascended the stairs, the guard scowling after them. Like they didn’t recognise him. He’d been in trouble with most of them in the time he’d been living here.

Mayor Hancock was lounging on the third floor, in what he called his ‘business room;’ all dark wood, heavy curtains and a seductive dim glow to the lighting. The low table was scattered with an eye-popping variety of chems and stims, and beside him MacCready heard Chiv give a low whistle of admiration. The scent of rich smoke hung thickly in the air. The ghoul Mayor of Goodneighbor looked up from where he was sprawled on one of the grand red sofas, face cracking open in a lazy smile that was more alarming than it was friendly.

‘Welcome, friends. What can I do for you? MacCready, how ya doin’? Haven’t seen you upstairs lately.’

MacCready cleared his throat awkwardly, aware of Chiv giving him a curious look.

‘No, I’ve been...working.'

Hancock gave a slow nod, that intense black gaze raking over Chiv. Chiv shifted, raising his chin, subconsciously straightening his back and pushing out his chest. The scavenged combat armor chestpiece he wore made him look broader than he really was, but MacCready had seen him out of it and knew he wasn’t actually all that much bigger than him - though he definitely had more muscle. He had a couple inches height on him, too, which seemed much more exaggerated next to the diminutive ghoul. Out of the corner of his eye, MacCready watched Chiv’s facial expression change minutely, his narrowed eyes hardening to a more steely grey, low dark brows coming together in a tough-guy frown, thin upper lip twisting in what was just shy of a growl. The fresh cuts and bruising from their days in the city added to the effect, layering over older almost-healed injuries. Clearly, he was used to trying to look more dangerous than he was, but that wasn’t exactly unusual in the wastelands.

‘I see,’ Hancock murmured after a moment, rising from the sofa in a fluid movement to clap a hand on Chiv’s shoulder rather more heavily than was necessary. His posture was relaxed, but MacCready had seen how fast the man could move. Finn’s blood still stained the street below.

‘Take care of this one- ’ here Hancock gestured with his free hand to MacCready, who shuffled on the spot. ‘He’s got a reputation, but he’s the best damn shot I’ve ever seen.’

Chiv’s eyes remained hard as they met Hancock’s stare dead-on. Hancock’s lip was curling up in a dangerous smile. MacCready was reminded strongly of a picture book he’d read as a kid; two lions sizing each other up, circling around each other, manes bristling and claws just barely sheathed.

‘A reputation? That seems rich, coming from you.’

There was a tense moment, Chiv’s gaze unwavering, and MacCready thought for a wild second that Hancock was going to stab him. But then the ghoul burst out laughing, squeezing Chiv’s shoulder before stepping back and picking up a bottle of bourbon from the table. Chiv was grinning easily, accepting the proffered glass from Hancock and raising it in thanks before taking a sip. MacCready took his with more than a little relief. Hancock was a stand-up guy, but Chiv could be a real asshole when he wanted, and MacCready had no idea how their first meeting had gone. Or, indeed, if they’d even met before at all; a lot of Hancock’s hired guns went through Fahrenheit. He made himself at home on one of the velvet sofas, his back twinging as he settled into it. Chiv sat beside him, and their outstretched legs brushed together lightly. Hancock drained his glass and poured another, setting the bottle on the table between them hospitably. He lay back across his sofa, kicking one leg up comfortably, the very picture of decadent anarchy.

‘So, I guess you two aren’t just here to shoot the shit. Business first. Got any news about the Pickman gallery?’

Chiv pulled a disgusted face.

‘Jesus, yeah. Let’s just say his art isn’t going to have much resale value once all those bodies start decaying.’

Hancock’s wrinkled brow shot up, and he chuckled darkly.

‘Damn. Wish I could say that was the most twisted thing I’ve ever heard of, but it ranks up there...top three. Was it just Raiders he’d been targeting? Did you find Pickman himself?’

Chiv launched happily into the whole gory tale, complete with graphic descriptions of the paintings and exaggerated hand movements, but MacCready had had enough of blood and guts for one day. He lounged back in the chair, the bourbon warming his stomach nicely; Hancock had the good stuff, not the cheap shit Whitechapel Charlie overcharged for. The conversation faded to a low buzz in the background, MacCready lazily listening to Hancock’s smooth growl and Chiv’s lighter joking tones. Chiv’s thigh was warm and solid where it pressed against his, and he kept refilling MacCready’s glass, which was very nice of him. The State House was secure, well-guarded, his rifle was in reach, Hancock and Chiv were nearby, and for the first time in a week he felt that rarest of all feelings; safety. His eyelids were suddenly very heavy, he noticed - it was taking a concerted effort to keep them open. He wanted to take another drink, but his arm didn’t seem to want to raise the glass up to his lips. A little sigh left his mouth, his head rolling gently to the side. Ah, well. He could worry about that later.

He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder, and for a moment thought he was blind, until his cap was lifted from where it had slipped down over his eyes and Chiv’s face swam into view. He blinked in the dim light of the room. Beyond the windows it was full-dark, and the State House was quiet save for the creak of the settling wood. He looked around blearily, disoriented; Hancock was standing by the door waiting, and Chiv was half-laughing, tugging on his upper arm.

‘C’mon, sleeping beauty. Time to go.’

He allowed Chiv to pull him up to his feet, swaying a little more than he’d expected to, the alcohol still buzzing lightly in his system. He hadn’t drank anything all week out on the road - ‘never whilst working’ was probably the only rule he had when it came to alcohol consumption - and the bourbon had hit him harder than he’d expected. His back was still aching from his fall earlier in the day, the pain worsened by his awkward position on the sofa. He briefly wondered if Hancock would miss a Med-X or two - he certainly had plenty lying around - but the ghoul was one step ahead of him as always, pressing a handful of stims into Chiv’s hands as he saw them out of the grand doors on the ground floor. MacCready tried to stifle a yawn behind his hand as he muttered a grateful goodnight, Chiv thanking him for the drinks.

‘Sweet dreams,’ the ghoul called after them as the doors swung shut. ‘Don’t think too hard on that Pickman artwork, now.’

Chiv steered them through the Goodneighbor streets, lighting up a cigarette, the glow of his lighter flame bright in the full-dark. He offered the crumpled pack to MacCready, who shook his head. He shivered at the cold bite of the night air. The streets were empty, the bars closed; just how long had he been asleep? The Hotel Rexford was the only other place in town they could get a room at this hour, and MacCready was thankful Hancock had just paid them; judging from the distinct chink of caps coming from Chiv’s pack each time he moved, it had been a decent amount too. Ten caps for a room wasn’t too steep, but he’d given almost all his caps to Daisy like always, keeping just enough for a bit of food and some ammo. He wondered if Chiv would let him share. The other man was humming to himself as they walked, in a good mood. MacCready leaned a little closer to him, trying to leech off his body heat, crossing his arms in a vain attempt to keep out the cold. The season was well on its way to winter now; he’d have to use his share of the money to buy a new jacket soon. He stumbled into Chiv’s back as the other man came to a halt in front of him, and looked up in surprise; they’d reached the hotel. Chiv gripped his arm again as they entered the dingy lobby. Clair Hutchins heaved herself up from a chair behind the counter, scowling at them from beneath a frizz of grey hair at their audacity disturbing her so late.

‘You wanna just share a room tonight? Save some money?’

MacCready nodded, grateful he hadn’t had to ask. Chiv was weirdly perceptive like that, sometimes. He’d be humming, or whistling, seemingly off in his own world, and then suddenly come out with something almost alarmingly close to what you were thinking. Chiv dug his tin of newly acquired caps out from his pack to pay, Clair scowling even harder at his apparent wealth, and five minutes later they were unlocking the door to their room. Chiv immediately dived onto the bed, the mattress groaning under his sudden weight.

‘Shotgun!’

MacCready threw up his hands in mock anger.

‘You jerk! I need the bed, my back is killing me!’

Chiv laughed at his outraged expression.

‘Fuck that. You were sleeping just fine at Hancock’s. I haven’t slept at all yet, I need it more. Besides, I paid for the room, so it’s mine by right.’

MacCready glared at him defiantly, pointing a finger at his face.

‘No way. I took second watch last night, so it’s been longer since I slept properly. And you paid for it with caps we _both_ earned!’

‘You wanna fight me for it?’

MacCready seriously considered it, eyeing up the other man. He was still standing, whereas Chiv was sprawled on the bed, so he had an upper hand there already; but he’d had more to drink, and was still a bit dazed from waking up, and Chiv had the slight advantage of size. The raised eyebrow and slow grin spreading across Chiv’s bruised face told him the other man knew that too, so he decided to preserve his dignity. Gone were the days when a single punch to the face could win him a war. Chiv was no Princess. He sniffed, sliding his pack off his aching back and dumping it unceremoniously onto the threadbare sofa.

‘Fine. Asshole.’

Chiv chuckled as he turned his back, but MacCready ignored him. There was a spare blanket folded on top of the dresser, and he arranged it on the couch, stripping down to his undershirt but leaving his trousers on; too cold for anything less. He flipped off the light, stumbling back to the sofa in the sudden darkness and trying to make himself comfortable. Chiv shuffled around on the bed for a few more minutes, smoking another cigarette as he undressed. MacCready wrinkled his nose at the smell of it, pushing down the twinge of cravings. He knew if Chiv offered him again, he wouldn’t be able to say no. He needed a distraction.

‘Hey. You said something earlier, about seeing Goodneighbor before. How does that work if you aren’t from the Commonwealth? Did you come here as a kid or something?’

He heard Chiv roll over on the bed, the glow from his cigarette throwing out just enough light to highlight his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling. There was a long pause; he could almost feel the tension as Chiv debated his reply.

‘Not...as a kid, no. I have been here, though. It was very different back then.’ A beat, and then his voice softened. ‘I used to live in Sanctuary Hi- in Sanctuary.’

MacCready frowned in the darkness, reaching up a hand to itch the peeling skin on the back of his neck. That made even less sense; why had he said he wasn’t from the Commonwealth, then? And if he’d been here as an adult, but was only MacCready’s age, how could it be so different? He opened his mouth to question him further, but Chiv got there first, deftly changing the subject.

‘What about you? You from Goodneighbor?’

MacCready felt a little jolt of sadness.

‘No. Capital Wasteland. Near D.C?’

He heard Chiv let out a long breath, and wasn’t sure if it was cigarette smoke or shock.

‘Capital _Wasteland_? So that’s like here, too? Is all of America like this?’

MacCready was confused, almost regretting asking him. Where on earth had this guy been for the past two hundred years?

‘No, it’s worse than here, I’d say. More mutants, less water. Or there was, until a couple years back at least. It’s getting better now, I guess. But yeah, the whole of America is the same, far as I know. You...you do know there was a nuclear war, right?’

He was joking, but not completely. Chiv was making less and less sense by the minute. He heard him give a little huff of dark laughter.

‘Yeah. I know better than most.’

They were silent for a while. MacCready worked over Chiv’s words in his head, trying to figure out what the heck he was talking about. How could he know about the War, apparently in great detail, but not that the whole world was a wasteland? The guy was a complete and utter mystery. But...it was compelling. He watched the little glow of light dance through the air as Chiv leaned over and stubbed his cigarette out. The bed creaked in the darkness as he settled back. MacCready closed his eyes, finding a comfortable position on the sofa.

‘So why did you come to the Commonwealth?’

MacCready cracked his jaw on a yawn.

‘Needed money. No work around D.C any more, not since the Brotherhood took over, and I didn’t fancy a soldier’s life. Don’t reckon a buzz cut would suit me,’ he added, and heard Chiv chuckle quietly. ‘I signed on with the Gunners when I got here, but…’ he paused here, wondering how much it was safe to reveal. ‘I...at first it was fine, we just hit Raider gangs and the like. But then they...something happened, and I didn’t like it, so I walked.’

Chiv hummed in agreement.

‘So I came back here, Hancock put me up and gave me a bit of work; I thought I’d set myself up as a mercenary again, just work for myself. It’s what I’ve always been best at. But those two assho- those two guys you saw in the Third Rail. They’ve been hounding me ever since. They’re still pissed I left. No-one wants to hire a merc with the Gunners on their heels.’ His voice was growing bitter, his frustrations leaking through, and he fisted his hands in the rough blanket. Chiv was silent. Asleep. Great. He’d been whining to thin air. He closed his eyes again, tucked his chin under the blanket, curling up into a ball. His back still ached.

‘So let’s go fuck ‘em up.’

‘What?’

He opened one eye again; Chiv’s voice had been very soft in the darkness, thick with sleep, and he wasn’t completely sure he’d even heard him. But he spoke again, a little more firmly this time, and MacCready felt a thrill run up his spine at his words.

‘I said, let’s go fuck them up. Teach them not to mess with you. After what we pulled today, we can take a group of pansy little pretend soldiers no problem.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Mmmhmm.’

MacCready stared into the darkness of the room, mouth open slightly. He had to be joking. No-one in the Commonwealth was that stupid; to blindly charge into the face of danger just to settle a grudge for some guy they’d known less than a week. He’d only ever known one person like that, and that had been a long time ago. But then, this was Chiv. MacCready was getting the distinct impression that he just plain wasn’t like everybody else.

A slight snore came from the bed; Chiv was definitely asleep this time. MacCready snuggled down under his blanket, a wide grin slowly spreading across his face.

 _Alright, Chiv, you’re on,_ he thought to himself as sleep started to envelope him. _Let’s go fuck ‘em up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rolls into the Fallout 4 fandom a year and a half late* hi I have a lot of feelings about this tiny sniper man so I wrote a thing
> 
> This initially started just as a fun little writing exercise for me but quickly evolved into a full-length multi-chapter fic because I cannot control myself and I was having so much fun writing it I thought I may as well share it! This story will roughly follow the main plot of the game with the Railroad faction and will thus contain spoilers if you haven’t played that section of the game; however, it’s canon-divergent and some things have been excluded or adjusted for the purposes of the narrative. The story may also contain spoilers for some of Fallout 3’s main and side quests in later chapters. This story is rated E and will include some descriptions of violence, gore/graphic injury, death, and sex.
> 
> Chiv Arroyo (pronounced ‘shiv’) is my Sole Survivor OC, and a little content of him can be found under the tag ‘chivandrj’ at [whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com/). You can also send me asks or messages about the story there, I’d be very happy to receive them!


	2. Gunners

The Ferals were right behind him.

Their guttural roars and screams echoed from the cold tunnel walls, filling the space, filling his head until he couldn’t hear anything except their fury. Their clammy, rotting hands snagged at his clothes and he yelled, the sound drowning in the chaos, tearing himself away from them. He felt the sleeve of his jacket give at the seam, a ragged tear leaving it hanging ridiculously from his arm, flapping against his side with every step.

Better that than his flesh.

He fled through the winding, twisting tunnels of the metro station, feet splashing through brackish water and stumbling over piles of smashed brick and jutting pipes. It was getting darker and darker, the light closing in, the tunnels narrowing as he raced into the depths of the earth. Wrong way. He slammed into a wall, a gate of thick steel towering up into the black of the ceiling; a dead end. The monsters were howling and gibbering in triumph, knowing somewhere deep in their decayed minds that they had him trapped. He cried out again, hands pounding uselessly against the grille; suddenly, to his left, a door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. He slipped through just in time, the Ferals crashing into the spot he’d been in with howls of rage at the loss of their prey. But it hadn’t bought him more than a few seconds. They’d be after him again in moments.

He grabbed Lucy’s hand, pulling her through the metro service tunnels, the lights flickering above them with an electric hiss. Duncan was crying, held too tightly in his arms. He tried to say something, to comfort them, to tell them both how much he loved them and how sorry he was that this had ever happened, but his throat was choked with fear and no words would come. The tunnels seemed to go on forever as they ran, hopelessly lost, the growls and snarls of the Ferals closing in behind them once again. Left, right, right again; through doors and gates and down stairs, never finding a way up or out, always deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. The corridors had given way to rocky tunnels, opening out into a series of narrow caves and caverns; Little Lamplight. A helpless, frustrated fury was rising in his chest; he couldn’t be lost, he _knew_ this place, he _grew up_ here, he was _Mayor!_ But it was all so different and wrong. The children stared as the three of them raced past, and MacCready wanted to scream at them to run, that it wasn’t safe; but then they were at the entrance, his old lookout post an overwhelmingly familiar sight in the sudden stream of sunlight from the cave mouth. They were going to make it.

Lucy’s scream rent the scene like an air raid siren, sudden and shocking and demanding all attention. MacCready skidded to a halt, turned, horror and bile rising in his throat. No, _no!_ They were almost out, safety was just a few metres away! She was on the floor, the Ferals all over her, a mass of flesh and limbs and blood and gore and oh that was her _hand,_ lying limp on the ground, the bracelet Knock-Knock had made her hanging from the ragged stump of her wrist. MacCready looked away, wanted to vomit, felt it sharp and acidic in the back of his mouth, but he couldn’t. He glanced back at the body on the floor; Chiv was motionless, his grey eyes staring sightlessly through MacCready, blood streaking down the side of his face. Duncan was _screaming_ in his arms now, the sound growing louder and louder, and the Ferals were turning towards them from Chiv’s mangled body, and they were screaming too, Duncan’s cries echoing from their mouths, and MacCready just stood there framed in the sunlight from the cave entrance, his body paralyzed, unable to move or do anything except watch as they began to run towards him again and -

‘Duncan! _No!’_

MacCready jolted upright, the threadbare blanket wrapped tightly around his body, pinning one arm to his side. He thrashed in the throes of panic, tearing himself free from the rough fabric, pushing himself away from its claustrophobic grip. His feet connected with the back of the sofa and with a wild shove he launched himself onto the floor, crashing hard, his head cracking painfully against the floorboards. His hands shot to his head, gripping it in a vain attempt to ease the pain, his vision blurred as he curled in on himself in a protective ball. Little tremors still ran through his whole body but the sudden sharp pain had shocked him into wakefulness and he lay crumpled on the floor, feeling his panting slow, his heart still beating a tattoo against his skinny ribs. His face was wet with a salty mix of sweat and tears, the taste of bile burning on his tongue.

The door to the room swung open, and MacCready shot up, making a wild grab for his rifle; but it was just Chiv, paused with one foot over the threshold, eyebrows rising in surprise. He was dressed in just his patched jeans, hanging undone and riding low on his hips, a ragged towel around his neck and his dark hair slicked back with water. MacCready let out a shaky breath, letting his body collapse back against the sofa.

‘You okay down there?’

MacCready nodded mutely, his head still throbbing. Chiv padded into the room, the door closing behind him with a reassuring clunk. He left a little trail of water droplets across the bare wood as he passed by MacCready, moving to the cracked mirror on the wall to scrub at his hair with the towel. MacCready watched the muscles shift in his narrow shoulders. A large burn scar splashed across the small of his back and round his hip, the skin mottled red and puckered. MacCready’s eyes followed a drop of water as it slipped from his hair and down the length of his spine before disappearing beneath the hem of his jeans.

‘It’s the Ferals,’ he said shakily after a few moments, running a hand across his sweat-soaked forehead and through his sleep-mussed hair. ‘I had a…’ he paused, swallowing down the hard lump in his throat, wondering what words he could possibly use to explain what had happened. ‘A...bad experience with them a while ago. I get nightmares about it sometimes. I guess yesterday just got to me.’

He half-expected Chiv to laugh at him but the other man said nothing, just walked across to his pack and dug around in it for a minute before tossing something at him. MacCready looked up quickly enough to catch it, but the damp towel that followed caught him across the face. The fear-sweat from his dream was drying cold and uncomfortable on his skin.

‘Go get cleaned up, you’ll feel a hell of a lot better. Bathroom’s last door on the right, down the hall.’

MacCready looked down at the little bag Chiv had thrown him. Inside was a bar of tallow soap, and an almost empty tube of toothpaste. He felt a little wash of gratitude, finally trusting his legs enough to stand up without shaking. The imagery of the nightmare was fading, in the way nightmares always do; just a blur of noise and fear now. A light flush brought colour back to his cheeks, embarrassment replacing fright. He rummaged in his pack for clean-ish clothes, and was halfway out the door when Chiv spoke again, his voice low and reassuring.

‘Hey. It’s just a dream, man. Nightmares can’t hurt you.’

 _Easy for you to say,_ thought MacCready, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same.

 

***

 

They neared the Mass Pike Interchange mid-afternoon, the winter sun weak in the sky above them, already beginning its descent. MacCready had shaken off the last lingering tendrils of fear from the Feral encounter, replacing it with the eager excitement of an approaching fight. Chiv was just as excitable, expending his seemingly endless energy as he roamed back and forth along the path like a wolf with a scent. MacCready laughed to watch him. The mercenary life seemed to suit him; jumping from one job to the next, the thrill of the battle, the easy-going wandering and exploration. He wondered, again, what exactly it was he’d been doing before (in his own words) ‘all this.’ The Pip-Boy on his arm marked him as a Vault dweller, but nothing else did, and MacCready wouldn’t be surprised if he’d just scavenged it off a body somewhere.

They’d followed the main roads out of Boston, sticking to the cover of the elevated freeway as they walked. MacCready spotted the Gunner camp first, calling across to Chiv who was digging through a couple crates discarded by the side of the path. He nodded towards the tall windmills, the tell-tale giveaway of the Gunners.

‘They generate electricity, but they’re also a status thing. Like a big marker; we’re here, we don’t care if you know because you’re too weak to challenge us, kinda thing,’ he explained, pointing out the skull symbol painted on almost every surface. He unstrapped his rifle from his back as he spoke, hands moving with practised ease as he deftly checked the weapon and readied it. Chiv’s watchful grey eyes followed the movement. ‘I came here once as part of a patrol. There’s an elevator further down the road that will take us up, it’s far enough away that it won’t alert the main group but there might be one or two guards at the bottom. I can take them out if we stay low.’

Chiv had seemingly learned his lesson yesterday, and was willing to give control of the operation to MacCready. He nodded, checking the rounds in his clip and flashing MacCready a dazzling grin. His teeth were infuriatingly white and perfect, except for one missing molar. MacCready closed his own mouth, suddenly self-conscious.

‘Ready when you are, chief.’

MacCready rolled his eyes, but took the lead anyway, slipping into a crouch and leaving the road, sticking to the taller grasses that ranged along the verge. He halted them a little further down, within sight of the elevator, at the top of a slight hummock. Chiv knelt down as MacCready steadied himself, raising his rifle to his face, closing one eye. He could feel Chiv watching him carefully and a confident little smirk twitched the corner of his mouth. Time to show off a little.

There were three Gunners at the bottom of the elevator; more than he’d expected, but not a problem. One was on a raised platform, leaning on the railing, gun hanging loosely from his hand as he chatted to the other two who were stood close together on the ground behind a waist-high barricade. Well, no issue. MacCready wasn’t aiming for their waists. He remained poised, body held completely still, breath slow and timed. The two Gunners on the ground were moving, about to pass each other, heads lining up perfectly. He hoped Chiv was still watching as he waited, a little electric thrill of anticipation buzzing through his veins. _Not yet...just a little further…_

He moved like lightning, dangerously fast, and heard Chiv’s sharp intake of breath as he fired, reloaded, and fired again in the bare space of a second. Two shots, and the three Gunners dropped where they stood, no time to even react. MacCready watched them through the scope for a moment longer, ensuring they were down, but it wasn’t necessary. He knew he hadn’t missed. He never did.

He lowered the rifle, turning to Chiv and throwing him a wink. The other man’s mouth was open slightly, eyes wide with excitement. MacCready gave a little exhilarated laugh, revelling in Chiv’s obvious awe.

‘So, you impressed yet?’

They set off at a quick pace towards the elevator, MacCready leading them across the open grass. They wouldn’t have long before somebody realised what was going on, and the element of surprise was always the biggest advantage. As they reached the bodies, MacCready noted with a purr of satisfaction that he’d nailed both shots dead-on in the forehead. The second bullet had passed straight through one Gunner’s head, ripped a ragged hole in the back of her skull, and lodged itself in the brain of the other. Damn, he was good.

‘I’m completely self-taught, you know,’ he boasted to Chiv as they rode the rickety elevator up to the freeway. ‘Picked up a rifle when I was six and never looked back.’

Chiv looked shocked.

‘When you were _six?’_

MacCready nodded like it was nothing, leaning back casually on the elevator, internally loving Chiv’s amazed reaction. There weren’t many things in his life he could preen about, but his skill with a rifle was one of them, so he was damn well going to milk this for all it was worth. Besides, Chiv’s admiration was making his stomach flutter in a very pleasant way. He had a reputation as an excellent shot, he knew that, but somehow hearing the praise from Chiv was...different. More worthy, somehow - which made no sense, seeing as the guy knew absolutely heck all about guns.

‘Ya-huh. Had to, where I lived. We couldn’t afford to have anyone not pulling their weight.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Why, how old were you when you made your first kill?’

Something in Chiv’s face shifted, hardened; just a subtle change in the set of his jaw and the glaze of his eyes, but MacCready picked up on it straight away. He didn’t respond to the question, just set his gaze on the road above them, suddenly silent. MacCready’s stomach dropped a little, disappointed. Huh. Touchy subject?

Luckily, just then the elevator reached the top with a little juddering groan of creaking metal, cutting off the opportunity for conversation. Chiv stepped off, immediately dropping into a crouch and moving off down the freeway. MacCready followed, carefully avoiding the gaping holes in the asphalt where the road had crumbled away. Chiv stopped a little way down from the Gunners camp, hidden from view behind the concrete barrier of the central reservation, readying his weapon. They waited in silence for a few moments before MacCready realised Chiv was watching him expectantly. He cleared his throat and raised his rifle to his cheek, resting the barrel on the top of the barrier. Two Gunners stood at the barricade further up the road. If the patrols were the same as when he’d been here last, they’d be facing around ten fully armed mercenaries, plus Winlock and Barnes. He could feel the tension in Chiv’s stance, nervous energy radiating between the two of them as they shifted close together behind the barrier. The calm before the storm.

‘You sure you wanna do this?’ he murmured, cheek still pressed to the cold steel of his gun.

Chiv’s voice came from much closer than he was expecting, rumbling right beside his ear, a throaty growl that made the hairs on the back of MacCready’s neck stand straight up.

‘Fuck yeah. Kill those sons-of-bitches, MacCready.’

At the sound of his name, he let out the breath he’d been holding, squeezing the trigger of his rifle. Two shots, and the two Gunners at the barricade dropped like stones. As soon as they were down, he was up and moving, vaulting over the cracked concrete barrier and racing up the freeway towards the next bit of cover. Shouts of confusion and anger were already coming from up ahead; they’d lost the surprise. He glanced back. Chiv was at his heels, a dangerous gleam in his grey eyes that made MacCready’s heart rate pick up.

The Gunner pack appeared as they reached the first tumbledown shack, the walls groaning as they slammed into them. Chiv leaned around the corner and sprayed into the group with his combat rifle as MacCready reloaded, flattening himself down on his stomach to belly-crawl out from behind the shack and sight down his scope. Chiv had managed to drop two, and three more were wounded, out in the open; MacCready picked those off easily. The other Gunners were scattering to various places around the Interchange, hiding in buildings and behind trucks. He heard the tell-tale whirr of a turret firing up, started to yell to Chiv; but he’d heard it too, was ripping out the pin of a frag grenade and throwing it in a wild arc towards the direction of the sound. The resulting explosion shook the walls of the little shack, MacCready ducking his head instinctively at the roar. The sharp tang of burning oil filled his nose, the screams of a Gunner caught in the blast shrill in his head. _Lucky throw._

Chiv was on the move, leaping out from behind the shack, sprinting between the buildings to crash headlong into one of the Gunners. Tackling him to the floor, he used his gun as a bludgeon, smashing it repeatedly into his face, yelling with the exhilaration of the battle. Blood spurted, bones crunched, and the Gunner lay still. MacCready leaned out from his cover, but pulled back in again immediately as a hail of bullets ricocheted past his head. Cursing, he pushed himself back to his feet, slipping around the back of the shack and using the buildings as a shield to move further up the freeway. He could hear Chiv firing and swearing on the other side of the huts, heard a scream as another Gunner went down. Adrenaline was pumping through his body, his senses on high alert, the undeniable thrill of the fight thrumming through his veins. Despite the danger, he didn’t think there was anything that could stop the grin that split his face. _Finally,_ he was going to get his revenge.

Chiv suddenly reappeared from between two huts, almost colliding with him, his face a slasher-movie horror dripping with blood. MacCready felt a moment of sick panic before realising it wasn’t his. His combat armor had taken a few dents, and there was a nasty gash on his bicep, but the expression on his face mirrored MacCready’s own; savage and delighted. He was enjoying this.

‘I saw one of your guys up ahead!’

MacCready’s smile was more of a snarl, teeth bared in anticipation.

‘Then let’s get this show on the road.’

They broke cover, Chiv dispatching the remaining Gunner privates in another mad spray of shots as they ran up the middle of the freeway. Sure enough, Barnes was up ahead, his face contorted with rage as he recognised the skinny young sniper sprinting towards him. He fired his shotgun wildly, emotions ruining any semblance of aim, buckshot skittering and zipping past Chiv and MacCready as they threw themselves behind the last of the Gunner barricades before the freeway’s end. Barnes was yelling, his words lost in the whip of the wind around the exposed freeway but his furious tone clear as anything. Chiv turned to MacCready, eyes alight with battle-fire, and started to say something - but they both froze at the unmistakable pneumatic hiss of power armor.

‘Well, that complicates things.’

Winlock’s smug laugh reached them across the freeway, amplified by the helmet, tinny and mechanical. MacCready ground his teeth in rage.

‘Yeah, go ahead and laugh! Hiding in your armor like a little bitch! You know you can’t take us man to man!’ shouted Chiv, thumping his fist on the barrier. ‘We’ll see who’s laughing when we fuck you up!’ He turned to MacCready, dark hair in disarray, a few long strands falling down to brush his cheekbone. The two Gunners were firing over their heads, keeping them pinned down. ‘Any ideas?’

MacCready chewed at his lip. They could rush the pair, but it would pretty much be suicide; brute force _could_ take down power armor but it would take so many bullets they’d be dead before they even broke through the frame. He racked his brain. He’d left the Gunners long before he got anywhere close to power armor rank; his big mouth and nasty attitude hadn’t exactly endeared him to promotion. But there had to be a weak spot; everything had one. Deathclaw bellies, Mirelurk faces, Sentry Bot fusion cores…

_Fusion cores._

‘I’ve got an idea, but you aren’t going to like it.’

Chiv shrugged one shoulder, popping his head up to check on the Gunners, ducking it back down again immediately as bullets chipped into the concrete of their makeshift cover.

‘I’m not exactly thrilled with our current situation either, buddy. Let’s hear it.’

MacCready outlined it quickly, watching a brief shadow of fear pass across Chiv’s face, and for a moment was sure he was going to refuse. But moments later it was replaced by determination, and he nodded. Yet again, MacCready was surprised by him. He couldn’t think of a single other person in the wasteland who would willingly do what Chiv was doing, just for a stranger’s vengeance and the sheer fun of it. Chiv was definitely proving to be one in a million. As he made to stand, MacCready grabbed his wrist.

‘Be careful,’ he said, and Chiv met his eyes briefly before pulling away.

He broke out from behind the barrier, racing away in a wide curve to their left, following the line of Gunner barricades and half-finished shacks that made up the main section of their camp. There was just enough cover to keep him safe, whilst remaining tantalisingly in view of Winlock and Barnes. MacCready held his breath, silently begging; but both men took the bait, and he felt a surge of vicious delight. Idiots. They turned on the spot, following Chiv’s dash around the edge of the freeway, firing after him; he prayed they weren’t hitting their marks, but Chiv was still moving. Winlock’s back was almost to him…

_Now._

MacCready stood and raised the rifle to his face in one fluid movement. Winlock, his vision obscured by the power armor’s helmet, didn’t react; but Barnes spotted him, turning and firing his combat shotgun in his direction. He was too far away to do any real damage, but the stray buckshot caught MacCready’s cheek, and he gritted his teeth against the sting as it bit into his flesh. Barnes gave a shout of triumph, but MacCready stayed poised, blocking out everything but the rise and fall of his breath and the waver of the barrel as he lined up his shot. Winlock was still turning away, the power armor hissing. Time seemed to slow, his breathing deepening, steadying. Distantly, he heard Chiv’s gun rattle off a salvo of shots, saw them spark against the armor. The two Gunners were close together now, Barnes using his comrade as a shield as he fumbled to reload. _Come on,_ MacCready snarled. _Keep turning...that’s it...come on, you prick, show me the sweet spot…_

The yellow dot of the fusion core on Winlock’s back aligned perfectly with the crosshairs as he turned fully around, making a perfect bullseye target. Barnes’ shotgun was blasting again, loud and furious, the man yelling as he realised what was going on, but it was too late. MacCready took the shot.

The armor’s power core exploded in a blast of flaming electricity, Winlock trapped screaming in the smoking wreck as it crashed uselessly to the floor. He heard Chiv’s wild yell of victory as Barnes’ body was thrown back from the blast, hitting the central reservation with an extremely satisfying crack before going limp. MacCready put a bullet in his head anyway. The flames roared high into the sky, scorching the underside of the freeway’s upper level, the smell of hot metal and melting asphalt pungent in the air. A burst of heat, and then they faded as quickly as they’d come, just a few sparks and crackles of electricity darting across the shell of the armor. He only began to relax when Chiv emerged from the other side of the camp, feeling a rush of relief that he hadn’t been hurt. The plan had gone perfectly. The other man went straight for Winlock, ripping back the ruined helmet and shoving his gun in his face.

‘What’s up, fuckhead? Not so tough now, are you?’

MacCready jogged over, elbowing him out of the way to lean over his former commander, eyes narrowing. Winlock was still conscious, his face badly burned, head rolling from side to side as he fought to focus. MacCready spat in his face.

‘That’s for…’ he paused, gaze flicking to Chiv and back again. ‘...you know what that’s for.’

Winlock groaned, blood bubbling between broken teeth. Pathetic. MacCready wasn’t going to give him a chance to beg. Chiv stepped back, face impassive, as MacCready pressed the barrel of his rifle between the Gunner’s eyes and squeezed the trigger. The wet squelch didn’t even make him flinch.

They stood in silence for a few moments, Chiv bent over and supporting his hands on his knees as he got his breathing back under control. MacCready just stared down at the broken body at his feet, brutal satisfaction curling his lip. Silence was settling over the freeway, just the crackle of the burning turret and the low creaking of the windmills above them breaking the moment. He wondered how long it would be before the rest of the Gunners found out what had happened.

Chiv was moving, crouching down to examine the wreck of the power armor. The spell broken, MacCready turned away, eyeing up something lying on the floor nearby. He went to grab it, an idea forming.

‘Hey, Chiv. I...what are you doing?’

Holding up the object, he’d turned to see Chiv wrenching the left arm off the power armor frame. The joints were weakened from the explosion and it came away in a shower of metal shavings and sparks. He held it aloft like a bizarre trophy.

‘Hey, MacCready. Need a hand?’

MacCready groaned loudly. Terrible. Chiv was giggling at his own joke, using a length of rope from his pack to strap the arm across his back.

‘What’ve you got?’

MacCready held up Barnes’ combat shotgun.

‘I was going to give this to you, seeing as your aim is so godawful - I figured it’d suit you better than that rifle. But after that joke I think I’m just going to drop it over the edge.’

Chiv held his hands out, making a childish gimme-gimme motion.

‘Lemme see it.’

They came together again in the middle of the freeway, looking over the weapon. MacCready showed him how to reload it, pointed out a bit of damage on the stock but said it was nothing a bit of welding couldn’t fix. He was halfway through a sentence, focused entirely on the gun, when Chiv touched the side of his face suddenly and he jumped. His fingertips were rough as they rested against his cheekbone, smearing the blood from his wound.

‘I didn’t realise they’d got you,’ Chiv said, his grey eyes soft with concern. ‘Are you okay? Do you need a bandage?’

MacCready’s cheeks were heating up, the other man’s brow furrowing as he gently tipped MacCready’s face to the side to get a better look at the injury. He swallowed hard, pulling back, heart skittering as Chiv’s fingers stroked briefly down his cheek as he moved.

‘I’m fine. It’s just a graze.’

They stood still for a moment, Chiv’s earnest face full of worry, MacCready suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He felt pinned to the spot, could feel Chiv studying him; taking in his prominent cheekbones, the messy brown hair sticking out from under his cap, the dart of his blue eyes as he tried to decide where to look. He coughed slightly, unable to meet his gaze, feeling ridiculous.

‘We should...get going. The smoke’s gonna attract people sooner or later.’

Chiv nodded, still watching him intently. MacCready mumbled, tugged his cap down lower over his eyes, pushed the combat shotgun into Chiv’s hands. Chiv looked down, and the tension broke. MacCready started off down the freeway immediately, back towards the elevator, feeling a little shaken. The hell was _that_ about? The adrenalin from the battle had worn off, and he could feel all the stings and aches from the fight, fatigue setting in. Maybe he was just more tired than he realised. He’d had a crap night’s sleep, after all.

‘Hold up.’

He turned to see Chiv grab one of the twisted pieces of metal that had torn free from the power armor, marching over to the main shack. The Gunner skull logo was painted on the front, big and boastful. MacCready watched, laughter bubbling up in his throat as Chiv carefully scratched away at it with the metal, carving a very clear symbol of his own. He stood back to admire his handiwork, turning to give MacCready a ‘not bad’ expression. MacCready lost it at the look on his face. A crudely carved cock and balls now jutted proudly into the open mouth of the Gunners’ symbol, the words ‘Suck On That’ scratched deeply above the tableau. Chiv was laughing, too, his knees giving way as he slumped over the barricade to keep himself upright. Despite the post-battle weariness, MacCready felt on top of the world. The cocktail of fatigue, joy and success was delicious, intoxicating. He’d done it. He’d actually _done_ it! Winlock and Barnes were dead, a giant middle finger to the Gunners and everything they’d forced him to do. And it was all thanks to Chiv.

Laughter finally coming under control, he glanced over at the other man. Chiv was leaning back, admiring his artwork, shoulders still shaking with mirth. Despite the blood and grime splattered across his face, he still managed to look charming; even a heavy layer of bruising couldn’t dim the excitable spark in his eyes. MacCready felt a little swell of warmth deep in his chest. Nobody had ever given enough of a crap about him before for him to even consider asking them to do something like this, let alone have them actually carry it out and save his ass in the process. And Chiv clearly cared about him, too; his concern over his injury showed he wasn’t just doing this for kicks. For the first time in a good while, someone actively _cared_ about him. For the first time in a good while, he had an actual friend.

He wasn’t sure what karma he’d cashed, but Chiv walking into the Third Rail was turning out to be one of the best things that had happened to him in a long time.

 

***

 

Dusk was falling as they reached Chiv’s home just outside Concord. MacCready hadn’t been this far north of the city ruins before; it was much more open, the wide expanses of grassland and sparse tree cover making him anxious. His body was aching too, desperate for a rest, and he felt more than a little relief as the huge red rocket loomed into view. Chiv must have been living here a while; two junk windmills creaked gently on the flat section of the roof, powering a water pump buried in the dirt at the side of the building next to a scraggly vegetable patch that contained a couple of mutfruit bushes. A wooden outbuilding was tacked onto one end of the garage, too, utilising the existing doorway. Two ancient rusted cars still sat on the garage forecourt; the bonnet of one was propped open, and MacCready wondered if Chiv had been trying to get it working again. An impossible task; none of the centuries old vehicles would ever drive again. As they made their way up the road, a wild chorus of barking started up from behind the building. Burdens immediately forgotten, MacCready’s face lit up in delight.

‘You have a dog?!’

‘Better. I’ve got two.’

The mutts rounded the corner of the garage, claws skittering on the forecourt as they raced over, happiness painted on their grinning faces. Chiv dropped his pack, falling to his knees and opening his arms wide in greeting. 75lbs of German Shepherd barrelled into him at top speed, knocking him onto his back, yelping with delight and covering his face with slobber as they rolled in the dirt. The other dog had come to a halt a little further away, just out of reach, ears pricked and tongue hanging out as she observed the display. MacCready crouched down, hefting his pack more securely onto his shoulder, reaching out a beckoning hand.

‘This is Dogmeat,’ groaned Chiv, shoving the big male dog off him and sitting up. ‘And that little lady is Junkyard.’

Junkyard was sniffing at MacCready’s hand, and he leaned in further to gently stroke the top of her head. She pulled back at first, eyed him up, and then moved in again and allowed him to scritch at the base of her ears.

‘Don’t be shy, beautiful,’ he murmured reassuringly. ‘Hey, hey. There’s a good girl.’ Junkyard’s scraggly tail was wagging more firmly now as she butted her head against his hand, questing after his fingers which seemed to know just the perfect places to rub and scratch. Chiv was gathering up his fallen belongings, Dogmeat gambolling around his legs.

‘Hey, she likes you.’

MacCready grinned happily up at Chiv as Junkyard licked his hand, her tongue rough and wet.

‘All dogs like me. I grew up with loads of them. They practically raised me.’

‘Now that would explain a lot,’ laughed Chiv, and MacCready threw a handful of dirt at him. They made their way into the old garage, Chiv unlocking the door with a garish Nuka-Cola Quantum glow-in-the-dark keyring that MacCready was not at all surprised he owned. Chiv disappeared immediately through another door, the dogs at his heels, leaving MacCready to stand awkwardly in the hallway.

Chiv had transformed the interior of the garage into a veritable bachelor’s pad. Junk lined the walls; road signs, posters, assorted odds and ends that he’d picked up on his roamings. MacCready took a few steps further in, looking around. A low counter ran along one side of the hall beneath the large windows, various boxes of food, bottles of beer and stacks of purified water littering the surface. On the other side of the hall, the wall dropped away to reveal what had once been the shop counter, which was piled with boxes. Behind that, Chiv had tucked a small but comfortable looking sofa and table, the surface of which was scattered with crap. A copy of Publick Occurrences, the newspaper from Diamond City, lay next to a full ashtray. MacCready dropped his pack next to the sofa, hesitated, then pushed aside a huge faded Stars and Stripes flag that hung over the final doorway. Behind it lay what he guessed had once been the office. Chiv had transformed it into a surprisingly cosy bedroom; old diner signs decorated the walls, dotted between shelves that held all manner of knick-knacks. An impressively intact and clean bed was pushed into the far corner, a dresser opposite that and a cabinet tucked at the foot of the bed. An old broken TV unit was balanced on top of the cabinet; MacCready raised an eyebrow at that. The other half of the room was taken up by large metal storage boxes; lifting the lid of one revealed a few small pistols, some boxes of ammo, and a security baton.

MacCready was about to leave, curiosity satisfied, when something caught his eye. On the little table beside Chiv’s bed was a wooden photo frame, an extremely faded and crumpled picture stuffed in behind the broken glass. Intrigued, he took a step closer; it looked like a photograph of two men, but the electric light was shining on the glass in a way that made it hard to see.

‘MacCready?’

He jumped, feeling suddenly guilty. The flag curtain moved aside and Chiv stuck his head around the doorframe.

‘There you are. You wanna come see something cool?’

 

***

 

‘ _This_ is what you wanted that arm for?’

Chiv nodded, and MacCready could see the pride glowing in his face. They were standing in the old workshop, a large drafty room with a sliding metal door that took up an entire wall. Chiv had stripped off his dented combat armor, chucked it into the corner to await repair. The scent of fresh oil and hot metal hung pleasantly in the air; the smell of guns and bullets and defense. An old mattress was tucked into one corner, Junkyard sprawled happily on it chewing on a radstag antler. Workbenches, toolboxes and cabinets lined the walls, but the two boys were staring at the centrepiece; a towering yellow frame supporting an almost complete set of power armor. It was good quality, too; Pre-War and built solidly, not the scavenged rusted crap the Raiders sometimes got hold of. Sheets of metal lay scattered on the floor around it, a welding torch resting on one massive metal foot.

‘I’ve been working on it for ages. I found the frame on a roof in Concord, in a crashed vertibird. I’ll have to tell you the full story some time, it’s badass. It was missing a couple pieces, but I bought a few things in Diamond City, and that finding that arm was a big help.’ His face suddenly turned mischievous. ‘It’s battered, but at least it didn’t cost me -’

‘I swear if you make a joke about it costing an arm and a leg I am going to punch you,’ MacCready deadpanned, and Chiv smothered his laughter behind a hand.

‘You know, you could have said something sooner. This would have come in really handy the past week,’ MacCready grumbled. ‘So what exactly are you doing to it? Just tinkering for fun, or…?’

Chiv shook his head.

‘Nope. I’m radiation-proofing it.’

‘Radiation-proofing it. Dare I ask why?’

From the doorway, Dogmeat whined. Chiv turned to look MacCready in the eyes, his face suddenly serious. The strip lighting of the room washed out his features, making him look sickly and pale, the dark bags under his eyes more than just the result of a few night’s lost sleep on the road. MacCready was strongly reminded that despite all they’d been through in the past week, and as much as he considered him a friend, he still knew approximately jack shit about the guy. There’d been hints of something bigger going on beneath the surface, and as he met Chiv’s gaze, he felt a little twist of nervousness in the pit of his stomach. Exactly what was he getting himself involved in, here?

Chiv’s answer was loud in the almost silent room.

‘I’ve got to track down an escaped Institute scientist. He’s hiding in the Glowing Sea.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not enough fanfics include Dogmeat! He’s a Good Boy and deserves more screen time. Junkyard is, of course, the Junkyard Dog you can buy from Gene in-game.
> 
> Find me at [whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com!](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com/)


	3. Questions

The last of the light was fading when MacCready climbed the hill behind Red Rocket, wandering out into the open fields with only a mild expectation of a bullet to the back of the head. Open spaces usually freaked him out; he’d certainly felt that familiar itch between his shoulder blades earlier in the day, as they moved away from the cramped city ruins and cover of towns into the wider plains north of Boston. But the lengthening shadows cast by the setting sun were his ally now, and his jacket blended in with the overgrown grass, easing his discomfort. Besides, who was gonna be out here at this time? They’d walked through Concord on their way up, found it deserted, and he doubted the folk over at Abernathy Farm were the types to shoot random wanderers.

He found Chiv at the base of the Concord water tower, followed the sporadic sound of gunshots to find him resting his rifle on a rickety fence, firing at a line of tin cans balanced on the tower's concrete base. Dogmeat ran to greet him as he approached, shoving his wet nose into his palm and snuffing at his pockets in the hopes he’d brought some food. He laughed, ruffling the dog’s fur. Satisfied he wasn’t hiding any snacks, Dogmeat leaned companionably against his legs, MacCready’s fingers twining through the long hairs on the back of his neck. He stood quietly for a while, watching Chiv shoot. He was missing most of his shots, the wind catching his bullets and skewing them off course. A rookie mistake. MacCready took a step closer.

‘You’ve got to account for the breeze.’ He glanced at the long grass, watched it bend in the next gust. ‘Try aiming slightly to the right.’

Chiv nodded, and his next two shots toppled the cans from their perch, a little satisfied huff leaving his lips.

‘Thanks.’

He’d come out here shortly after they’d got back to the garage, leaving MacCready standing stunned in the workshop whilst he fetched his rifle and casually yelled something about ‘going out to practise’ as he’d strode out the door. MacCready hadn’t even been able to formulate a jokey retort, still reeling from the revelation that Chiv was, apparently, completely and utterly insane. Why else would he be willingly - _willingly,_ mind you - walking into the Glowing Sea? The most dangerous place in the Commonwealth; hell, probably in the entire country! Even with a full set of power armor to negate the worst of the radiation, the place was crawling with deathclaws, Ferals, radscorpions...all manner of rabid Wasteland monsters who’d happily make a meal of out Chiv. And not only was he doing this completely of his own accord...he was doing it to find an _Institute scientist._

And after that reveal, which had sickened MacCready to his stomach with fear, he’d just nonchalantly strolled out the door like nothing was out of the ordinary.

 _Everything_ with Chiv was out of the ordinary.

‘Ah, fuck’s sake!’

MacCready snapped out of his thoughts, turning his attention back to the other man, who was still trying to knock the cans off the tower. He was doing better, but he was still missing more often than not. MacCready hesitated, then walked over to crouch beside him, Chiv shifting over to give him room. Sensing the invitation, MacCready raised a hand to gently grip the barrel of the rifle, squinting down the sights as he guided it into position.

‘You wanna be aiming about here. Take into account distance, wind, target movement. Not saying the can is gonna run, but bigger stuff will. Think about where your target is going to be, not where it is.’ He lined up the shot, and let go. ‘Try that. Keep it steady. Breath in, hold it - then let it out as you fire.’

Chiv took the shot, and there was a satisfying ding as the bullet caught the upper corner of the can, sending it spinning off the fence.

‘Good. But squeeze the trigger, don’t yank on it, or you’ll ruin your aim.’

‘Yes, sir,’ grumbled Chiv, but he took the advice anyway. They stayed like that for a while, Chiv improving a little with each shot and muttered piece of guidance. Dogmeat lay in the grass nearby, batting a rock between his paws. MacCready’s side was warm where Chiv’s body pressed against it. He could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath; steady. Calm.

‘So, you gonna tell me why you’re bothering to fix up your power armor if you’re just gonna walk into the Glowing Sea and die anyway?’

Chiv gave him a haughty look, one eyebrow raised.

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, amigo. And no, I’m not gonna tell you. None of your business.’

MacCready’s jaw slackened incredulously. None of his...none of his _business?_ He’d been hired to watch the guy’s back! Of course it was his - of all the -

‘Are you kidding me? You hired me as a personal damn bodyguard! If anything is my business, it’s this!’

Chiv rolled his eyes, which pissed MacCready off even more.

‘Relax. I said _I’ve_ got to go there, not we. You can stay here until I get back.’

‘Oh, thanks! I’ll just, what, sit around here with my thumb up my ass for a week whilst you get chewed to shreds by deathclaws? Nice! That’s real nice, Chiv.’ MacCready folded his arms across his chest, sitting back. ‘Look pal, you need to stop this stupid mystery-man act. I was honest with you about the Gunners, I told you about Winlock and Barnes and how I’ve been stuck in Goodneighbor for weeks because no-one wants to touch me once they find out who I used to run with. I gave you that option, too, to walk away knowing who I was and what I was bringing to the party. You can’t afford me the same damn honesty?’

Chiv raised his rifle with a long-suffering sigh, resting it against his shoulder as he dug in his pack for his water flask. MacCready’s eyes narrowed, his anger rising as Chiv apparently ignored him, drinking deliberately slowly to avoid the question. Finally, he lowered the flask, giving MacCready a beleaguered look.

‘You’re not gonna drop this, are you?’

MacCready raised his chin defiantly.

‘Nope. You want me on for the long-haul, you need to start being straight with me. None of this avoiding the topic bullsh- crap you’ve been pulling so far. I’m not letting you go waltzing into the most dangerous part of the Commonwealth alone for no good reason.’

He hadn’t meant to sound quite so concerned, but it seemed to soften Chiv a little. He leant his rifle carefully up against the fence and dug in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, the click-and-hiss of his flip lighter loud in the growing quiet of the evening. The sun was almost completely gone now, the sky a deep bruise of purples and blues. From behind a haze of smoke, Chiv’s grey eyes levelled him with a more serious look.

‘I’m not gonna tell you everything,’ he said, voice guarded. MacCready nodded; that was fair.

‘I don’t want your life story. I just want to know who you _are_. I worked for the Gunners without knowing anything about them, and look how that turned out. I don’t wanna be shooting you on an overpass in a couple weeks time because you turn out to be an Institute spy or something.’

Chiv gave a little bark of humourless laughter, smoke trailing from his lips.

‘Buddy, that’s about as far off the mark as you can get. But sure. I get you. I’ve been a pretty tight-lipped bastard so far, haven’t I?’ He exhaled, trying and failing to blow a smoke ring. ‘What do you _think_ you know about me?’

Well, that was out of left field.

MacCready studied him for a moment. He knew his name - or a nickname, anyway. He knew, roughly, his age; a few things he’d said had enabled MacCready to place him around his early to mid twenties, like himself. He knew he was rude, and could be a massive sarcastic jerk when he wanted to...but he also knew he was funny, and charming, and daring, and competitive. When he’d rolled half-drunk into the VIP room of the Third Rail just over a week ago, MacCready had assumed it would be your average job; escort the Wastelander through the city ruins, get paid, rinse and repeat with the next customer. He hadn’t figured on Chiv being so damn _fun_ to hang around with. He’d cemented himself as someone MacCready wanted around on a more permanent fixture when, on an incredibly stupid dare, he’d managed to slip a live grenade into the pocket of a particularly dumb super mutant. They’d cried with laughter afterwards, even as they ran from the rest of the monsters, mimicking the look on it's face as it’d realised what was happening seconds before exploding into a bloody paste. With food in his belly, caps in his pocket, a gun in his hand and the open road ahead of him, MacCready had felt good - _really_ good, and found himself liking Chiv more and more with each terrible joke and devious smile.

‘Well...you’ve got nice teeth.’

Chiv blinked at him. MacCready inwardly cringed.

‘I mean, you look really good. Not like a scavver. Like, healthy, I mean, not good as in...y’know, you’ve got perfect teeth and you’re pretty strong and you’ve got hardly any scars, except that big one on your back, and…’ he trailed off, realising he was digging himself deeper, feeling his face turning red. A wicked gleam was lighting up in Chiv’s eyes, which just made it worse. MacCready could feel his nose burning with embarrassment.

‘MacCready. You been checking me out?’

Fucking _hell._

‘No!’ he yelped, suddenly very aware of how close they were sitting together in the grass.  ‘It’s just...it’s weird! You’re just so out of place. Even your accent is different.’

Chiv’s face took on a strange expression, his grey eyes glazing over slightly, the teasing glint gone. MacCready watched his lips part, smoke sighing out from between them.

‘Out of place. Yeah, I guess that’s as good a description as any,’ he murmured, voice growing quiet. His gaze was fixed on the tip of cigarette between his fingers, now a glowing beacon in the full-dark. ‘Okay, look. I’ll tell you what I told Nick Valentine, alright? Don’t think this means you’re getting some kind of special treatment.’

MacCready rolled his eyes, but nodded. Chiv stalled another few moments, fiddling with his cigarette, his shoelaces, his rifle - until finally, he spoke, his speech halting and careful.

‘I used to live near here, with my...with...with a friend. And their baby son. We were...in a place we thought would be safe. But it wasn’t. Someone broke in, killed N- killed my friend, and stole the baby. I escaped.’ A haunted, faraway look had come into his eyes. His words were deliberately clinical, detached, but MacCready could hear the tremble of anger threading through his voice. ‘I made my way to Diamond City, found Nick, the detective. We tracked down the murderer. Found out he was from the Institute, that they’d hired him to do it. That’s why I’m doing this. I’m going to hunt down the runaway scientist, _make_ him tell me how to get inside, and then I’m going to fuck that place up. I want revenge, MacCready. _That’s_ why I’m going into the Glowing Sea.’ His voice had lost control, become a snarl, his teeth bared in primal fury. The wind had picked up, the night air cold on his skin, but the shiver that ran through MacCready had little to do with the temperature.

‘They stole a _child?’_

Chiv nodded, knuckles white on his clenched fists.

‘Not a child. A _baby._ And I’m the only person who even knows it happened. I’m the only one who knows what they did.’

‘I...holy shit, Chiv.’

What could you say to all that? Of all the reasons Chiv could have given for such an insane mission, he’d never expected this. MacCready sensed there was an awful lot more to this story, but Chiv seemed to be done talking. The other man’s tension released suddenly, his expression slipping from fury to sadness, and with a sigh he flopped down into the grass, staring up at the night sky. His cigarette had gone out, and he let it fall from his fingers. It was full-dark now, the stars sprayed across the black above like the blood splatter from a shotgun wound. Chiv raised a hand, one finger pointing straight up, making sweeping movements back and forth. It was a moment before MacCready realised he was tracing the shape of the constellations. He hesitated, then lay back beside Chiv, the grass damp beneath his back. Growing up underground, he remembered his first time seeing the stars - how terrifyingly huge the sky had been in comparison to the low rocky ceiling of the caves. He had no memories from before Little Lamplight; just a vague impression of movement, and noise, and a constant drip of water that sometimes still resurfaced in his dreams. It’d been his sixth birthday, the day he’d been given his first gun, and some of the older boys - _Mayor Six-Shot, that was it, back before the yao guai got him, and the Mercer brothers_ \- had taken him topside to the hill above the cave and showed him how to shoot it. But as much as the gun had come to be the most important thing in his life, it was the stars he remembered from that first trip above ground. How bright they’d been, how beautiful, how they’d seemed almost close enough to touch. He remembered another night under the stars, years later - outside Big Town in the summer, just him and Lucy, her admiring the cheap ring on her finger like it was made of starlight itself, and her smile as he’d kissed her over and over and over again…

Chiv’s voice broke through his thoughts, once again hitting uncomfortably close to home.

‘I never gave a shit about babies.’

‘What?’

He turned his head. Chiv’s grey eyes were reflecting the stars.

‘When N- when my friend’s son was born, I pretended like I was happy for them, but I didn’t really care. Now I’m all that’s left. I feel like...I owe it to them. Make up for past wrongs, you know? It’s not just about getting revenge for their death. The kid was nothing to me, but for my friend…they were the only family I had, at the end.’ He trailed off, shrugging awkwardly. ‘I dunno. I’m the only one who knows he’s out there. I have to try, right?’

MacCready tilted his head. Other people’s kids, in his experience, were not something the Wasteland collectively gave much of a shit about. But he’d spent his whole life protecting those younger than him...and the loss of your family, of the people closest to you in the world, was something he knew far, far too well.

But he _hadn’t_ lost all of his family. Not yet, anyway. Duncan was still alive, there was still a chance for him - Duncan, his reason for surviving this long, his reason for coming here in the first place, his reason for ending up broke and starving in Goodneighbor, hated by half the populace. Chiv clearly understood the importance of keeping those you loved safe at all costs; and, MacCready realised with a jolt, if there was anyone now in this entire Wasteland that he could confidently ask for help with finding Duncan’s cure, it was Chiv.

But if the price for his help was waging war on the Institute? There was no way they’d just sit back and let this happen. Chiv had said they’d left him alive by mistake; once they figured out he was alive and actively working to track them down, they were going to bring hell down on his head. And on the heads of anyone with him. MacCready felt a chill creep up his spine. He was suddenly aware of how dark it was, how a pack of cold, ruthless synth assassins could be creeping up on them right now. He swallowed hard. He was being ridiculous, he knew, but the Institute was almost a complete mystery to the Commonwealth. Nobody knew how or why they picked their victims. What if they targeted people who spoke out against them? What if they targeted their families? MacCready’s breath came out shaky, slow. This was big. Much, much bigger than he’d ever expected. Taking on Raiders, mutants and Gunners was one thing, but the Institute…

Fucking hell, this was hard. He wished Lucy was there, to give him advice, to help him, tell him what the right choice was. _But if Lucy was still here, none of this would be happening anyway._ He’d messed everything up, stupid mungo that he was. He’d let his kid get sick, couldn’t even get the cure on his own, done horrible things just to scrape together a few caps and now he was pussy-footing around a decision that could not only save his son’s life, but make the Commonwealth a safe place for him to grow up. MacCready knew that if he were in Chiv’s place, and it was Duncan who’d been taken, he’d be tearing down the Institute’s doors to get inside. Instead, all he’d done for his son was murder innocent people and piss off a dangerous group of mercenaries.

What had Chiv said about this being a chance to right past wrongs? God knew he’d done some real shit since leaving the Capital Wasteland. Joining the Gunners had turned out to be the worst mistake of his life, and the things they’d had him do - he forced down the memories. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on those thoughts. But Chiv seeking the Institute as a way of redeeming himself...wasn’t that what today had really been about? Had he killed Winlock and Barnes for himself, or for the people they’d made him hurt? Aside from the scale, was taking on the Institute really all that different from tracking down and slaughtering his former commanders? If he did this then perhaps, finally, he could make a name for himself as one of the good guys. A name Duncan could be proud to grow up with.

If anyone else had told him that story, their plans for the destruction of the Commonwealth’s greatest enemy, he’d have laughed, told them to enjoy their inevitable death, and walked out. But Chiv’s eyes had been darkly serious, his anger all-consuming, and if there was one person in the Commonwealth MacCready could believe was really going to do this, it was Chiv.

The other man lowered his hand from where it had been tracing the stars, letting it fall back to earth with a soft thump. His fingers brushed lightly against MacCready’s where they fell, just the tiniest touch. His voice was low, sincere.

‘You don’t have to be a part of this, MacCready. I...look, I know I haven’t been entirely fair, expecting you to just be okay with all this. I know it’s a lot, especially coming from someone you barely know. You don’t owe me anything. It’s…’ His voice roughened slightly. ‘It’s why I didn’t want to tell you. But if you wanna go back to Goodneighbor, I won’t hold it against you. I’ll understand.’

Chiv’s hand was still resting against his. Without thinking, MacCready pushed his fingers between Chiv’s, locking them together. Chiv’s palm was rough, but it was warm, and his hand twitched in surprise before his fingers slowly closed around MacCready’s. He’d been a jerk for not telling him, sure - but the barely disguised pain in his voice was explanation enough. Chiv really wasn’t that much different from him at all, he thought, the realisation sending a little bloom of affection for the other man through his chest. Maybe the child he was searching for wasn’t his, but they were both out here, in this hellhole of a Wasteland, hoping to save a kid and redeem themselves. He’d just have to face up to the fact that the price of Chiv’s help was a bounty on his head.

But then, he thought wryly, what was a good mercenary without a few dangerous enemies?

‘Nah. You know me, I live for danger. I’m in.’

He managed to keep his voice light and casual, but his heart was in his throat. Chiv squeezed his fingers, once, a silent _thank-you_ that somehow meant so much more than words - then let go and stood up. His spine clicked as he stretched. MacCready’s hand still felt warm from his touch. He propped himself up on his elbows as Dogmeat rose to his feet with a quiet ‘whuff,’ ready to head back to the warmth and safety of Red Rocket.

‘C’mon, MacCready. It’s been a long day. Let’s go home.’

 

***

 

It was mid-morning by the time he awoke, the sun streaming through the big bay windows of the garage, bright even against the backs of his eyelids. MacCready groaned, rolled over on the tiny couch, tried to hide his face - but the sound of hammering was drifting to him from somewhere close by, Junkyard was whining in his ear, and he desperately needed a piss. He sat up groggily, sleep still pulling at him, fuzzing the edges of his thoughts as he shoved the dog away, mumbling that he was _getting up, quit fussing, I’m moving._ A rough blanket slipped from his shoulders as he stood - funny. He didn’t remember finding one last night.

He yawned, hands pressing at the small of his back as he shuffled across the garage to the little shack Chiv had tacked on over the door at the end of the hall, forming a small but extremely welcome bathroom. There was a water pump in the corner, one of the old ones you had to crank by hand; the water was freezing, but refreshing, waking him up fully as he washed off the dirt from yesterday’s exertions.

 _Yesterday._ Finally shaking off the last clinging tendrils of sleep, the full realisation of everything that had happened the day before hit him like a .50 caliber bullet to the brain. Chiv’s vendetta against the Institute, his crazy plans to hunt down an escaped scientist, the conflict MacCready had felt as they’d lain side by side under the stars, knowing he was effectively signing himself up for a major part in an all-out war. There was a mirror hanging crooked on the wall, and he examined his face in it as he dried off. The graze on his cheek from Barnes’ shotgun was healing nicely, but as he ran his fingers over it, he felt a shiver of trepidation. There was going to be a lot more blood shed in the Commonwealth in the weeks to come.

He hoped not too much of it would be theirs.

He emerged from the bathroom a while later, feeling cleaner than he had in days, slicking his wet hair back. It was getting long again; he’d have to get it cut before it started getting in his way. A box of Sugar Bombs sat on a shelf in the hallway and he snagged it as he passed, digging a finger under the cardboard tab and munching a handful as he wandered through to the workshop, following the sounds of hammering. Chiv was in the far corner, at the armor workbench, and looked up when he walked in. The bags under his eyes were dark, denoting his lack of sleep, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at him, sending a little spark of fear through MacCready’s stomach; was he angry about the way he'd pushed him for answers last night?

‘Is that my fucking cereal?’

MacCready paused mid-chew, looked down at the box, and then tried to hide it behind his back.

‘Mmf,’ he said, shaking his head and trying to swallow his mouthful. Chiv pointed his hammer at him accusingly.

‘Do you know how hard it is to find an edible box of those things? You owe me.’

MacCready managed to swallow finally, eyes watering as the dry cereal caught in his throat. He coughed, thumping a fist on his chest, and Chiv gave him an imperious look.

‘That’s karma for eating my food.’

MacCready laughed between coughs.

‘Believe me, man, my karma is already deep in the negative.’

‘What?’

MacCready grinned, his smile tinged with melancholy.

‘Nothing. Something we used to say back in the Capital Wasteland.’

Chiv turned back to the workbench, where he was hammering the dents out of his combat chest piece. Confident he wasn’t going to get swiped, MacCready padded closer, wishing he’d put his boots on. The workshop floor was cold even beneath his socks. Chiv seemed alright; sweating, even, with the heat from the workbench and the exertions from hammering. MacCready watched him work, crunching his way through the Sugar Bombs. Finally, Chiv laid down his hammer and rolled his shoulder with a groan. He held up the combat armor, gave it one final look over, and then slipped it on over his t-shirt, buckling it securely around his waist. MacCready gave him a thumbs up.

‘Pretty handy with that hammer.’

Chiv hummed in agreement, adjusting the shoulder strap as they left the workshop and headed to where their packs lay in the hallway. MacCready dumped the half-empty cereal box on a random shelf where it immediately fell over and spilled half its contents, earning him a glare from Chiv.

‘Used to do that sort of thing for work,’ he said, topping up their water flasks with some of the purified cans stacked on the counter as MacCready hastily tried to scoop the cereal back into the box. The dogs milled around his feet, snapping up the bits he dropped. ‘Built sheds and stuff, not armor, but the tools are all the same.’

MacCready raised his eyebrows. Where in the Wasteland could you earn money building _sheds?_ He’d seen the settlements starting to spring up across the Commonwealth, the wood shacks and huts and farms - but there was no way the settlers living in them could afford to actually pay someone to help. Maybe out on the west coast? He’d heard about the New California Republic out that way, how they’d built massive settlements, bigger even than Megaton or Diamond City. But Chiv had said he’d lived near here...he rolled his eyes, tucking it away in his growing file of Weird-Things-Chiv-Says. After last night, he figured it was best not to push. Chiv would open up again when he was ready.

‘What’s the plan for today then, boss?’ he asked, and caught the way Chiv’s smile grew just the tiniest bit at the affirmation that yes, MacCready was definitely sticking around. He picked up his new shotgun, testing the weight of it in his hands - MacCready noted he’d fixed the damage on the stock. A busy morning, then. He wondered just how long he’d been awake.

‘I still need a couple bits for the power armor. There’s an old junkyard nearby...or there was, before. I thought we could go up there and do a bit of scavenging.’

‘No rest for the wicked, huh?’ he asked, finding his boots and pulling them on as Junkyard tried to chew on the laces. ‘Sounds easy enough.’

Chiv loaded his shotgun, and flashed MacCready a wry smile.

‘When is anything in this wasteland ever easy?’

 

***

 

The hike over to the junkyard was straightforward, not as far as they’d expected. Dogmeat had accompanied them and spent the walk racing ahead, urging them on, nose to the ground and revelling in the chance to join in the adventure. The junkyard wasn’t a large one, but there was plenty of material for scavenging. It seemed to be mainly robots, which meant thick metal plating; Chiv bounded forwards happily, digging into the first pile with enthusiasm. Dogmeat found a length of tubing and spent a happy while battling MacCready for it, tugging back and forth with little mock-growls. Tug-of-war turned into a full on wrestling bout, MacCready’s hat discarded in the dust as he rolled and tussled with the big dog. Chiv had wandered off, a growing pile of junk lying by the little hut ready to be hauled back to Red Rocket. It was gonna be a bitch to drag it all back. MacCready wondered vaguely if they couldn’t hook up a travois to Dogmeat - there had to be enough scrap here to cobble one together. Sensing his distraction, Dogmeat took his chance and seized his forearm in his jaws, slobber coating his sleeve. MacCready grabbed him around the neck playfully, pinning him down until he finally submitted. He crowed his victory as the dog rolled over, exposing his soft underbelly for MacCready’s hands to rub and scratch, tail kicking up a cloud of dust where it wagged furiously against the ground. Man, he’d missed this. As much as he’d complained about having to feed them, the dogs were what had made living at Little Lamplight bearable. And it had been far too long since he’d been able to romp like this, blow off some steam.

A derisive laugh rang out suddenly.

‘Cute.’

Heart in his mouth, he scrambled to his feet, hands groping for his rifle. Dogmeat leapt up, a vicious snarl ripping from his throat as he backed between MacCready’s legs, the hairs along his spine standing straight up. A man and a woman stood on the other side of the rusted fence, watching him; buzzcut hair, garish orange uniforms and laser rifles in hand. MacCready grimaced, lowering his weapon slightly, glaring as he caught the distinct clank of power armor on the road below.

Great. Brotherhood assholes.

He knew they were in the Commonwealth; everyone did, what with that ridiculous over the top entrance they’d made a fortnight back. But so far he hadn’t actually encountered any of them, assumed they were sticking to their ship. To find them this far north of the city was a little disconcerting. He could hear Chiv walking back, his arms full of jangling scrap, his voice coming into earshot as he rounded the corner of a junk hill.

‘Alright, I think that’s everything. You’re not gonna believe this, there’s a fucking sentry bot down there, completely intact. Gave me a goddamn heart attack, I thought I saw it’s eye light up, I damn near shi- who the fuck are you?’

‘Brotherhood of Squeal,’ growled MacCready, suppressing the urge to spit in the dirt at their feet. ‘Not worth our time. Let’s go.’

He bent to sweep his hat up from the ground, not bothering to knock off the dust before he jammed it onto his head. Hostility rolled from him in waves. The Brotherhood weren’t necessarily all bad guys, and they certainly weren’t the Institute - but the way they looked down their noses at the Wastelanders whilst simultaneously relying on them for food and ammunition just rubbed MacCready the wrong way. Chiv was piling the junk he’d collected onto a large flat-ish piece of sheet metal, ready to transport home. The woman with the undercut stepped forward, through a gap in the fence, and blocked his way. She stood square, holding her rifle ready across her chest; not quite an act of aggression, but close enough to one that MacCready adjusted his grip on his gun.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

MacCready saw Chiv tense, almost imperceptibly; just a little tightening in his jaw and shoulders, a slight raise of his chin. He nodded tersely at the junk pile he’d collected.

‘Taking my stuff and leaving.’

The other soldier had moved around to stand close to MacCready, who was gritting his teeth. Chiv had clearly taken nothing that would be of interest to them - metal plating, a couple of fans, some tools in various states of disrepair - but the way the Brotherhood soldiers were looking at him, he may as well have been hoarding mini nukes. God _damn_ Brotherhood of Steel. MacCready saw Chiv’s knuckles tighten on the rope he was tying to the sheet metal.

‘We’ll need to check your packs first.’ The woman held out a hand impatiently. ‘This junkyard is marked for Brotherhood ownership. Nothing leaves without our say-so.’

Neither man moved. Chiv was staring at the woman like she’d grown an extra head, whilst MacCready steeled himself for a fight.

‘Brotherhood ownership? Since when?’

His tone was only slightly aggressive, but it was enough to make the man beside MacCready scowl and flick off the safety on his laser rifle.

‘Since now,’ he said firmly. He gestured at MacCready with his gun, trying to get him to move closer to Chiv. ‘Empty your pockets.’

MacCready saw Chiv’s eyes dart to his pack where his combat shotgun lay, working out the distance, if he’d have enough time to grab it before the soldiers could fire a shot. MacCready slowed his breathing, pushing his anger aside, shifted his feet subtly in the dirt to steady his stance. If it came to a shootout, they’d probably be able to take just the two of them, but there was also the problem of -

The soldier in the power armor clattered up towards them, as though summoned by MacCready’s thoughts, knocking out a section of fencing as he came. No way they’d be able to win in a firefight, not now. He glanced at Chiv, hoped he’d realised the same thing. Nothing for it now but to try and talk their way out. Dogmeat was still growling between his legs. Chiv gave a little incredulous laugh.

‘And if we don’t?’

‘If we don’t, then nothing,’ said MacCready, staring the male soldier directly in the eyes, a thinly veiled challenge in his gaze. ‘They’re not gonna shoot us over scrap. They’re just being Brotherhood; bullying the little guys. It’s what they do.’

There was a tense pause. MacCready started mentally counting the rounds left in his clip. Where was Chiv’s silver tongue when you needed it?

The soldier in the power armor moved and MacCready nearly shot him, his body jerking instinctively; but he just held up his hands in a placating motion.

‘Hey, now. Initiate, drop it, they’ve only got scrap.’

The Initiate did not look pleased.

‘But, sir, I -’

The voice from the power armor sighed, the tinny filter making it sound like static.

‘We don’t have time for this, Liam.’

‘Yes, Paladin Ryans.’

Initiate Liam snapped off a salute and he and the woman turned away abruptly, but not before sending MacCready a filthy glare. They marched away through the piles of scrap, Dogmeat growling at their retreating backs. Paladin Ryans nodded to MacCready before moving off, but with the faceless helmet of the power armor, he couldn’t tell whether it was friendly or a warning. Chiv rolled his eyes, making a jerk-off gesture behind their backs, but MacCready didn’t find the situation quite as laughable. Only when they’d moved far enough away for their laser rifles to be useless did he allow himself to relax, his knuckles white on his gun.

This was how it had started in DC. The Brotherhood moving into smaller spaces, pushing out the locals, using their heightened sense of superiority and their sheer numbers to take over. They were uncomfortably close to Sanctuary - the settlement could be over before it had even really begun if the Brotherhood took a shine to it. He explained as much to Chiv as they returned home, dragging the makeshift sled behind them, each hauling on a rope. Dogmeat was sticking closer to them this time, seemingly unnerved by the presence of the strange soldiers.

‘See, the people of the Commonwealth think it’s a good thing they’re here. And it will be, at first. They’ll kill mutants, Ferals, deathclaws, seem like they’re making it safer. But then they’ll start running out of supplies. And that’ll be when they look to the farms - like the Finch place, and Greentop Nursery. They’ll demand half their crops in what they call taxes, won’t take no for an answer, say it’s the cost of their protection - but then when you need help, they’ll just make excuses.’

Chiv wrinkled his nose in distaste.

‘Sounds fucked up.’

‘It is. Make no mistake, the Brotherhood of Steel do not give a damn about anyone but their own. And don’t get them started on anyone who isn’t a _perfect specimen_ ,’ he spat. ‘They treat Ghouls like sh- like crap. There was a whole city of Ghouls back in the DC ruins. Underworld. Never hurt anyone, kept to themselves, just traders and stuff. I used to drink in the bar there quite a lot. Brotherhood drove them all out, when they took over. They’ll do the same to the synths here, you can bet on that.’

Chiv held up a hand to call a halt as they reached the outskirts of Concord, rubbing at his shoulder where the rope dug in to his flesh. MacCready was glad of the respite, his slender body aching with the strain of pulling all the scrap metal. He wasn’t built for stuff like this. They couldn’t drag the sled through the woods; had to go by the roads, which more than doubled the length of their journey, and it was hard going. Chiv hunted through his pack for water, pouring some out into the back of a hubcap as a makeshift bowl for Dogmeat. They sat on the verge by the roadside, listening out for approaching danger as they rested. Chiv scratched thoughtfully at his hair.

‘So, how come everyone hates synths so much, anyway? I get the Institute makes them, but if they’ve run away, they can’t be bad, right?’

MacCready swished his water around his mouth in an attempt to chase out the dust from the road.

‘Yeah...I guess. But if they’re synths, who knows what the Institute can do? They’ve probably all got tracking devices in them or something. Synth comes into your home, you’ve got the risk of Coursers hunting them down, and that’s not gonna end well for anyone.’ He traced a foot in the dirt, drawing lazy patterns. Chiv watched, leaning back against the rusted barrier. ‘And it’s not just that. The Institute steals people, takes them away and replaces them with exact copies. No-one knows why. Could be to get information, could be to scope out places to take over - hell, could just be because they can. But imagine waking up one day and...I dunno, Dogmeat’s acting weird. Something seems off but you can’t place it. And then eventually you get suspicious, you shoot him, and he’s all wires and crap inside along with the blood. How long has he been a synth? What’s he seen, what’s he told the Institute? Are you in danger? No way of knowing. It’s horrible. Gets inside your head, freaks people out. That’s where the real hatred comes from.’

Dogmeat, as if sensing he was being talked about, raised his head from his bowl and licked his chops. He whined at Chiv, who reached out and fondled his ears reassuringly.

‘Dogmeat’s not a synth.’

MacCready looked at him.

‘How can you be sure?’

There was a tense pause, and then he raised his hands in a _see-what-I-mean?_ gesture.

‘And that’s why everyone’s so scared. Unless you cut ‘em open you’ve got no way of knowing. You don’t get it unless you’ve seen it firsthand. Once someone accuses you, there’s no chance to prove it either way. People get hysterical. Easier to just drive the synths out from the start.’

Chiv was watching Dogmeat thoughtfully. He certainly didn’t look like a synth. But then, that was the point, wasn’t it? He barked, he wagged his tail, he ate and drank and scratched at fleas. No way of knowing...until you cut him open. Chiv shivered lightly beside him, and MacCready knew his train of thought had followed the same path. The other man stood, carefully pouring the last of Dogmeat’s water back into a bottle before taking up his rope again, waiting for MacCready as he re-tied his shoelace. MacCready shifted the rope on his shoulder to get a better grip as they set off again. The pace was quicker this time, both men eager to get home before night fell. The conversation had made every snapping twig and whistle of wind seem much more threatening.

‘It’s like this,’ added MacCready after a while. ‘Not every synth is an Institute spy - but every Institute spy is a synth. Who’s gonna run the risk?’

The rest of the walk home was finished in silence. The scrap jangled loudly behind them with each step. Suddenly, rather than the sound of a hard day’s work, it was more of a knell; a jarring reminder of what Chiv needed it for, as both men considered the gravity of what they were about to set in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter this time! Hopefully we’ve explored some of Chiv’s motivations and MacCready’s feelings towards the whole situation. MacCready is definitely starting to wear down Chiv’s cool exterior - but it looks like his reveal has just raised more questions than answered them.
> 
> I read a really interesting thing a while back about whether or not Dogmeat is a synth, that made some very convincing arguments. However, in this at least, he’s not - MacCready was just using him as an example. He’s just a very clever and resourceful pooch!
> 
> Find me at [whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com!](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com/)


	4. Family

‘Here. It’s not ice-cold, but it’ll do.’

MacCready had to lean wildly to the left to grab the bottle Chiv tossed him, managing to snag it with the very tips of his fingers before it crashed to the garage forecourt below. Honestly, Chiv’s aim was awful. He popped the cap with his teeth, earning himself a disapproving frown as Chiv used a screwdriver to open his own.

‘You’ll ruin ‘em doing that.’

MacCready chose to ignore that comment.

Chiv flopped down beside him with a satisfied groan, taking a long draught from his own beer. They were on the roof of Red Rocket, perched at the very end, legs dangling over the edge as they watched the sun slowly dip below the horizon, the sky turning from pink to purple. A fire barrel beneath the rocket behind them crackled cheerily in the growing dark, casting out a safe circle of light and warmth. Over the past five days they’d taken to sitting up here in the evenings, relaxing after a long day of scavenging, or hunting, or hanging out side-by-side in the workshop; Chiv putting the finishing touches on his power armor whilst MacCready handed him tools or played with the dogs. MacCready liked being up here; he could make a good little sniper’s nest, if they could find some patio furniture in Concord to drag up. Usually the atmosphere was light, playful, the two of them exchanging banter and little jibes as they unwound; today, though, was different. Today, Chiv had finally finished fully radiation-proofing his power armor.

Which meant that in the morning, he would leave for the Glowing Sea.

They sat in silence, companionably close, their arms brushing together occasionally as they raised their bottles to their lips. MacCready had spent the whole afternoon trying to think of something to say. He didn’t want to sound gushy, or worried, or come across like he thought Chiv couldn’t handle himself...but in all honesty, he was anxious. What if he _didn’t_ come back? The thought of his body lying out there, alone and rotting to nothing inside the tin can of his armor, made him feel slightly sick. But this was happening, whether he liked it or not. All he could do was hope Chiv came back alive and relatively unharmed.

Considering his destination, he was gonna need a whole lot of hope.

But there was one thing he could do before he left, in a somewhat clumsy and roundabout way of expressing himself. He reached into his pocket, felt the item he’d tucked in there, rubbed his fingers over the battered metal surface. It’d been weighing on his mind since they’d returned from Mass Pike, just a spark of an idea; but, he supposed, now was as good a time as any to do it.

‘Uh, Chiv?’

Chiv turned to him, a questioning look in those big grey eyes.

‘’Sup?’

MacCready hesitated, then pulled the tin of caps from his pocket. It jangled loudly in the quiet evening air. A little furrow appeared between Chiv’s brows.

‘I wanted to give you this. It’s the caps you paid me back in Goodneighbor. I...look, you’re the one that hired me, but I dragged you out to Mass Pike. I never expected...you’ve done more for me than...I just figure I owe you for that.’

Surprise crossed Chiv’s face, and he lowered his beer.

‘What? You don’t owe me anything, don’t be stupid. You’ve helped me out just as much.’

MacCready shook the tin, trying to sound sure.

‘No, I do. I don’t like not being even with people. Besides, if you’re...if…’

Chiv raised an eyebrow, bitterly amused.

‘If I die in the Glowing Sea you want all debts paid off? Is that what you’re trying to say?’

MacCready felt a slow flush creeping up his neck and across his face. This was not going at all to plan. But then Chiv laughed, reaching out to touch his fingertips to the tin and gently push it back towards MacCready.

‘I’m not taking your money, MacCready. I paid you to watch me in the city, and you did that. The Gunners had nothing to do with it.’ He grinned at him, confidence shining in his eyes with the firelight. ‘And I’m not gonna die. Stop worrying so much. I’ll be back in a few days. You can amuse yourself that long, right?’

MacCready rolled his eyes in exasperation, and tucked the tin back into his pocket with an exaggerated shrug. Too stubborn for his own good, this guy. Who turns down free caps? But the warmth in Chiv’s eyes was sending a pleasant glow through his own stomach, and he knew Chiv had understood what he meant by the gesture. Sticking with him wasn’t about the money any more.

What exactly it _was_ about was an answer MacCready was gonna need more time on.

‘You better come back. You’re gonna need way more shooting lessons than the one I gave you the other night.’

Chiv gave a gasp of mock indignance, and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

‘Shut up, I’m not that bad.’

‘You are.’

The conversation came easy after that, the tension between them fading. MacCready could hear the dogs roaming below, the gentle click-click of their claws a familiar and reassuring sound. The sky was a deep purple now, almost navy, and growing darker. MacCready watched the last few rays of sunlight slip below the horizon. The hill above Sanctuary was casting a heavy shadow across the little settlement, the distant glow of the lights there like synth eyes watchful in the darkness.

The conversation lulled, both men aching and tired from the day’s work. The night air was growing cold, even with the fire barrel crackling behind them. Soon, they’d have to go inside, go to bed; and then it would be morning, and Chiv would be gone. MacCready sighed lightly. If anything happened to Chiv now, his chances of saving Duncan would drop dramatically.

At least, that was what he was telling himself, to account for the nervous squeezing in his stomach every time he thought of the other man out there alone.

‘You...you be careful out there, Chiv. I mean it.’

Chiv’s fingers stilled from where they were picking at the faded label on his bottle, his head turning slightly to glance at him from beneath dark lashes.

‘I will be, MacCready. Don’t worry so much.’

MacCready chewed on his lip. The alcohol was beginning to have an effect on him, loosening his tongue, making the words come easier. He pushed down the voice in the back of his head telling him not to be so mushy; he had to say _something._ And it was much easier to do it when slightly drunk.

‘I’m serious. I like it here. Don’t wanna go back to the way things were, drowning myself at a bar in Goodneighbor and scraping for caps.’ He shrugged, feeling absurdly embarrassed. ‘I just...be safe, Chiv. Okay?’

A mischievous smile was tugging at the corner of Chiv’s mouth.

‘Aww, MacCready. I didn’t know you cared.’

‘I just don’t wanna have to come in after you, that’s all,’ he mumbled into his bottle in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment. He jumped when Chiv slipped his arm around his shoulders. He tensed; then, slowly, allowed his body to relax, leaning his weight into Chiv’s side. Chiv shifted slightly to accommodate him, fingers gently squeezing his upper arm as he pulled him into a half-embrace. When he spoke, his voice was a rumble through MacCready’s chest.

‘You won’t have to. Promise.’

They stayed like that for a while. MacCready could feel the gentle rise and fall of Chiv’s breathing. He was humming something under his breath, some tune MacCready didn’t recognise. The sound vibrated through him, and he let his eyes slip shut, relaxing fully into the embrace. Chiv’s body felt strong and real against him, reassuring; maybe he would be okay, after all. Let the Glowing Sea do it’s worst. He’d promised he’d come back.

_You of all people should know promises can be broken._

A gust of cold wind made him shiver lightly, the fire barrel guttering, and Chiv shrugged his shoulder gently in an attempt to rouse the other man off him.

‘C’mon, MacCready. I gotta go to bed. Tomorrow’s gonna be a tough one, I need my beauty sleep. Reckon the Glowing Sea isn’t gonna give me much chance to rest.’ A beat. ‘MacCready?’

‘RJ,’ muttered MacCready drowsily, and Chiv paused.

‘What?’

‘My name. Robert Joseph MacCready. You don’t have to just call me MacCready all the time.’ He yawned again, sitting up, leaving the warmth of Chiv’s side. ‘Y’can call me RJ. When you get back.’

‘Well whatever I call you, it’s still time for bed,’ Chiv retorted, but the tiniest of smiles was curving the corner of his mouth. He stood, cracked his spine, reached down to offer MacCready a hand and pull him to his feet. MacCready gripped it, but Chiv had clearly drunk more than he’d realised; he tugged far too hard, dragging MacCready roughly to his feet and sending them both staggering across the rooftop. MacCready was laughing, pressing his free hand to Chiv’s chest to steady himself as the other man’s arm wrapped around his waist, stopping them both from knocking over the fire barrel. With Chiv gripping his other hand, the shadows they cast on the road below looked like they were dancing.

MacCready went to pull away, but Chiv’s hand was still holding onto his. He was looking down at MacCready, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes and his face lightly flushed from the drink. He didn’t let go. His other hand was low on MacCready’s back, fingertips at the hem of his shirt. MacCready swallowed. He was suddenly finding it hard to concentrate, hard to breathe. Chiv was standing so close, he could feel the body heat radiating off him, swayed towards him subconsciously; the other man was staring at his mouth, his grey eyes hazy and heavy-lidded, his lips parting...MacCready’s blood was roaring in his ears, he couldn’t move, couldn’t tear his gaze away...he tilted his head, wondering what the fuck he was doing, but unable to stop himself as Chiv leaned in just the slightest bit…

‘Night, RJ.’

Chiv’s words ghosted over his ear, and then he let go of his waist, stepped away, and walked off down the sloping roof towards the scaffolding like nothing had happened. Cold air rushed over MacCready’s body, making him shiver. He let out a shaky breath, confusion overwhelming him. His nerves were jangling. They were drunk, right? Hadn’t eaten much all day - tired, dehydrated, on edge about tomorrow - excuses swirled in his head. Whatever the reason, he’d read too much into it. That was all.

But for one bizarre moment, he’d been absolutely sure Chiv was going to kiss him, and he wasn’t sure what was worse - the nervous fear that he would…

...or the creeping disappointment that he hadn’t.

 

***

 

Four days later, and MacCready was sitting at Takahashi’s Power Noodles in Diamond City, ready to tear his hair out with boredom.

He’d made the hike down to the city the afternoon after Chiv had left, uncomfortable with the idea of sitting around alone at Red Rocket whilst he was gone. Chiv had said he’d be five days, max - so MacCready figured that was plenty of time for a trip, give him a chance to stock up on some ammo and supplies whilst he was there. He could even pick up a new scope for Chiv’s rifle, help him out with those shooting lessons he’d promised - and, in the back of his mind, he thought it might act as a sort of good-luck charm. He had to come back if he had a gift waiting, right?

The Bobrov brothers had been thrilled to see him; they’d been traders before they’d got their hands on the Dugout Inn (how exactly that had happened, they still wouldn’t quite let on) and remembered him from their trips through the Capital Wasteland years before. There’d been an awkward moment when Vadim had asked after Lucy - MacCready had kept his voice steady, but there’d been a definite increase in the amount of vodka and moonshine consumed after that. They’d let him stay in one of their rooms in exchange for his help with a few ‘little problems,’ which he was more than happy to do. It kept him occupied for a day or so, kept his mind from idling; which was good, because whenever he let himself drift he’d find himself thinking about Chiv horrifically injured and dying in a radstorm halfway across the Commonwealth.

But now all his jobs were done, his errands run, and he was sitting at the noodle bar in the market circle idly listening to the evening chatter of the busy city, two empty bowls in front of him and a restlessness in his chest. Chiv should be back tomorrow, if all had gone according to plan, and assuming he wasn’t currently lining a deathclaw’s belly. He’d planned to head back to Red Rocket in the morning, so it didn’t seem like he’d been waiting around the whole time like a goddamn housewife - he was _Robert Joseph MacCready,_ for gods sake, and badass mercenaries like him did not sit around like a good little puppy waiting for their owner to return. But there was nothing left for him to do in the city, and he wasn’t sure his head could take another night of drinking with the Bobrov brothers. He glanced up at the sky - or what he could see of it, obscured as it was by the towering structures and floodlights up in the stands. It was early evening; he’d have to march hard, but he could make it back by midnight if he left soon, and the nervous energy making his leg bounce on the barstool told him he could handle the hike. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, pushed his empty bowls aside. He was reaching for his pack when a hand tapped him on the shoulder.

‘You MacCready?’

He turned, immediately on the defensive; no innocent reason someone would be looking for him. But his assailant was a young girl, her blonde hair neatly bobbed, a large satchel across her slim body. He nodded once, wariness easing.

‘Who’s asking?’

The girl reached into her satchel, and for a wild moment MacCready was sure it was a trap, she was going to pull a gun, she was sent by the Gunners; but she just came up with a battered envelope, handed it to him with a polite smile, and then held out her hand expectantly.

‘Delivery from Daisy. Ten caps, mister.’

MacCready took the homemade pulp envelope with a slight tremble to his hand. Daisy’s latest caravan must have come in. He could barely concentrate enough to count, shoving a handful of caps into the girl’s hand - the way her face lit up as she turned away told him he’d probably overpaid her, but for once he couldn’t bring himself to care. The envelope was crumpled, dirty; but then, it had come a long way. He tore it open, feeling the sick excitement he always did, the horrible gut-punch of fear that it would be bad news mixed with the desperate hope that it would be good. The script was small, neat and curling, the letters perfectly formed. Not the handwriting of your average Wastelander; but then, the sender was not your average Wastelander.

_Robert ~_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Thank you for the latest package. Supplies are thin on the ground here; the Brotherhood took much of our stock for their airship. They left the Wasteland a few days ago, and from what little information we could glean, it seems they’re heading your way. One of the Scribes let slip that they’ve picked up a technological pulse in the Commonwealth - and Arthur Maxson has gone with them, which must mean it’s a serious mission. Be careful._  
_I know you’re eager for news of your son. I’m very sorry, but Duncan isn’t doing so good. He slipped into unconsciousness some days ago and we haven’t been able to rouse him. He’s stable - but I just don’t know how much longer he’s going to be able to fight this. As always, we’re doing all we can - but our medicines just aren’t working. Med-Tek is his only hope now.  
Be safe, Bobby. And don’t despair. I believe in you._

 _Your favourite mungo,  
_ _~ L.W_

MacCready swallowed hard, feeling the hot burn of angry tears in the back of his throat.

_What the fuck was he doing?_

Chiv had been gone for nearly a week and he’d done nothing, absolutely nothing in that time to help Duncan. He should have been researching Med-Tek, should have gone to scope it out, see if the mutants were still in the area; should have been stocking up on ammo, not spending his money on luxuries. And certainly not wasting his time in the city, worrying about a guy he’d barely known a fortnight. He dug his nails roughly into his palm, teeth sinking into his lip in an effort to drive back the tears.

He’d known this would happen eventually, that Duncan wasn’t going to just get better; but he’d hoped the hospital wing at Project Purity would be able to do _something_ for him. Fucking Brotherhood of Steel, demanding all the goddamn supplies. Who gave them the right? He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a few deep harsh breaths. Nothing for it, now. When Chiv got home, he’d tell him everything, and just hope that by some miracle he cared enough to want to lend him a hand.

He’d just gotten himself back under control when the screaming started.

He jolted in his seat, the letter slipping from his hand as he almost fell off the stool, grappling for the rifle on his back. A woman ran past him, dragging a child by the hand, their faces painted with fear. The rest of the traders around the marketplace were ducking behind their counters, pulling down the shutters on their shops; citizens were running for cover everywhere, hands over their heads. MacCready had nowhere to go, caught out in the open, and he felt a sting of fear. Over to his right, at the entrance to the market circle, two men were shouting furiously at each other, their voices carrying over the rest of the noise.

‘For God sakes, Kyle, we’re _family!’_

‘What have you done with my brother, synth?! Where’s the real Riley?’

One of the men - Kyle - pulled a pipe pistol from the front of his jeans, levelling it at his brother. MacCready hissed his breath in through clenched teeth. Another synth replacement. Security officers were rushing in, their guns trained on the pair, shouting at the citizens to get away. MacCready shrank down a little in his seat, trying to stay small. Kyle’s pistol was wavering, tears streaming down his face as he brandished it; as emotional as he was, his shots could go anywhere. Riley had his arms raised, terror plain in his voice as he begged for his life.

‘I’m not a synth, Kyle, I swear! Don’t shoot!’

MacCready saw what was going to happen, saw the way Security’s guns were aimed not at the accused, but the aggressor. Still, he winced as Kyle’s face blew out in a spray of blood and gore as the bullets took him in the back of the head. Riley dropped to his knees, too, an animal scream of anguish tearing from his throat, hands reaching desperately for his brother’s body.

‘Kyle, _no!’_

MacCready felt numb. Security converged on the man, grabbing his arms roughly, hauling him to his feet. One of the officers was shouting at the crowd, his voice edged with panic.

‘Okay, show’s over! There are no synths in Diamond City, hear me? Just you folks and your damn paranoia!’

He pointed his weapon, a rather nasty-looking spiked baseball bat, directly at MacCready. _Time to go._ His sticky fingers meant he wasn’t on the best of terms with Diamond City’s Security department, and this was not a scene he wanted to be involved with. He made to slide from his barstool, barely remembering to swing his pack over his shoulder, when a small hand touched the base of his spine, and he nearly took the woman’s head off as he whirled on the spot. Only the sight of a familiar red leather duster coat stopped him from landing the blow.

‘City gates will be locked down whilst they sort this mess. You can wait it out in my office. Round the back, this way.’

 

***

 

Piper Wright slammed the door behind her, collapsing onto her sofa with a groan. Her little sister Nat was on her immediately, all questions and curiosity, her chalk-stained hands tugging insistently at Piper’s coat. Piper ushered her away, shooing her up the stairs into the upper levels of the house, telling her not to worry, that it was nothing. Nat went, reluctantly, but MacCready knew she was crouched at the top of the stairs listening in anyway. Diamond City houses weren’t the greatest for privacy.

‘What the heck was all that about?!’

Piper threw a hand over her eyes melodramatically.

‘You haven’t been in our Great Green Jewel in a while, I take it? That’s the order of the day around here. The usual synth paranoia and accusations. I’ve never seen it get that bad before, though,’ she added, dark hair bobbing as she shook her head in dismay. There was a Nuka-Cola machine against the wall, and MacCready helped himself. ‘Fear’s really been ramping up lately. The whole city is on edge. You put one toe out of line and someone’s accusing you of being a synth.’

MacCready perched on the other end of her sofa, making sure his rifle was still well within reach. The floorboards upstairs creaked as Nat tried to find a better spot to eavesdrop.

‘Well, they got good reason to be paranoid. It’s not just here. Guy in Goodneighbor got shot the other week for being a synth. Can’t just let them infiltrate our families, right?’

Piper’s freckled nose wrinkled as she shot him a concerned look, fingers automatically reaching for one of the pens tucked in her pocket.

‘He did? Who was it? What happe...ugh. That’s not the point, MacCready. It’s not the individuals that are the problem. It’s the Institute as a whole. Thing is, nobody cares until it directly affects them, and Security won’t do a damn thing to help. I keep _telling_ Danny, but he can’t do anything unless Mayor McDouchebag signs off on it.’ She gnawed at her lip, hands fluttering near her face as she worked herself up. ‘This synth hatred is getting out of hand. People need to realise that we have to do something _together,_ tackle the problem at the source, not just shoot everyone who...I dunno, chooses a different outfit one day, or decides to change up their morning routine. We shouldn’t be angling for a synth crusade, we should be looking at _how_ they’re managing to replace people.’

MacCready snorted, cola burning his nose.

‘You don’t want a crusade? Isn’t that a bit rich coming from the lady who dedicated an entire issue of her newspaper to outing the Mayor as a synth?’

‘That’s different. He’s an Institute spy, I know it.’

‘How is it?’ MacCready sipped his cola, raising an eyebrow at her. ‘It’s still stirring up fear of synths in general. Don’t get me wrong, I agree with you. Synth replacements need shooting, and I’m all for freedom of the press. But...don’t you feel a little bit responsible for this? That guy wasn’t even the synth - heck, maybe his brother wasn’t either. And now he’s dead. Not just a coincidence that this happens right when your paper prints a whole spiel about synth spies.’

Piper gaped at him, then her eyebrows came together in a scowl.

‘Gee, thanks for helping me out, Piper. You’re welcome, MacCready. I love your newspaper, Piper, good work on exposing the _real issues_ and not _pandering to the masses_ like the establishment wants you to. Gosh thanks, MacCready, I’m glad to see you understand what I’m trying to do here.’

MacCready glared at her, muttering darkly into his Nuka-Cola.

‘My voice doesn’t sound like that.’

Piper stuck her tongue out at him.

‘I’m not trying to stir up hatred, MacCready. I’m trying to get people to open their eyes! The Institute is replacing people left right and centre, and nobody cares until it happens to them. It isn’t right.’

MacCready shrugged one shoulder neutrally, not wanting to start a debate; you pissed off Piper and by the next issue of the paper, half the Commonwealth knew your dirty laundry.

‘Look, McDonough’s a prick, anything slandering him is good. But...I dunno. You gotta be more careful. In aiming for him, you’ve hit half the city with the splash damage.’

Piper made a face at his mercenary analogy.

‘I’m doing this out of concern! You know how many missing people reports there’ve been? I even had a guy in here a few weeks ago, looking for a missing child. A child! I have to try and do something. No-one else will!’

A slow frown came over MacCready’s face, unease creeping into his gut.

‘Another missing kid? Jeez. My frie...I’m, uh, working for a guy who’s lost a kid too. A baby.’

Piper looked horrified.

‘A baby? Oh, my God. That’s awful. I think this guy’s kid was around ten - that’s what Nick said, anyway. I hope this isn’t going to turn into a pattern.’ She twirled her pen between her fingers. MacCready noticed the end was chewed almost to shreds. Multiple missing children in such a short space of time? Couldn’t be a coincidence. Kids died in the Commonwealth all the time, but going missing was another story. Maybe the Institute was switching targets. His trigger finger twitched. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if Duncan was taken. His hand went to his pocket, fumbling for the letter from DC. There, at least, Duncan would be safe. He’d heard about the guy in Rivet City, sure, everyone had; how the sinister old man with the ruthless synth killer had come all that way to hunt him down. But Duncan was in Project Purity, under the heavy protection there, so surely he’d be safe, and -

His pocket was empty. He frowned, checked the other side. Nope. Panic started rising in his chest, his hands scrabbling in his pants, his jacket, desperately looking for the letter. He’d just _had_ it, he’d been reading it not fifteen minutes ago when all the screaming had started, and -

And he’d dropped it on the counter of the noodle bar.

‘Oh, _shit!’_

He scrambled to his feet, grabbing for his rifle and pack, his cola spilling across the floor as he moved. Piper was yelling behind him, but he didn’t care - ignored her angry shouts as he burst through her front door and raced through the streets back to the marketplace. He prayed, _begged_ that it would still be there. Information like that could be deadly in the wrong hands, especially if the Gunners were still sniffing around his trail.

He slammed hard into the counter of the noodle bar, earning shrieks of surprise from the diners there. His breath was coming in desperate pants, panic rising - it wasn’t there - gone, it was gone, his only news of his boy, how could he have been so _goddamn careless_...

Something crunched underfoot. He looked down, and there it was; filthy, stained with footprints and torn almost in half, but there. His breath came out all in a whoosh as he bent to snatch it up, swiping off the worst of the dirt. His heart was pounding in his chest as he slowly walked away from the bar, ignoring the confused looks of the people around him. It seemed stupid, to be so attached to a scrappy piece of paper, especially one bearing such bad news; but this was his only proof that Duncan was still alive, and he was sickeningly aware that every letter he received could be the last before...before…

He rubbed a hand roughly across his eyes, this time carefully tucking the letter into his shirt, keeping it against his heart. Well, there was nothing for it now. With kids going missing, and Duncan’s health failing, his need to have his son back at his side was an intense ache that burned beneath his ribs. He’d have to tell Chiv, couldn’t wait any longer. He turned towards the city gates, all thoughts of Piper and her newspaper gone, the persistent worries about Chiv’s safety returning. He’d head home to Red Rocket tonight, and as soon as Chiv got back in the morning, he’d tell him everything.

_If he gets back._

‘He’d fu- freaking better,’ MacCready growled under his breath, as he stalked beneath the gates of Diamond City and out into the dangerous night.

 

***

 

It had been seven days, and Chiv still wasn’t home.

He’d managed to keep himself occupied for the first day or so after he’d got back from Diamond City. Fed up of sleeping on the couch, he’d raided Concord for furniture, dragging up a bed, a dresser and an old footlocker he’d found in the Museum of Freedom. With much bitching and hammering of thumbs, he’d managed to put up a rough dividing wall in the unused space behind the counter, right next to Chiv’s bedroom, blocking himself off a little room of his own; he’d even decorated it a bit with odds and ends from the town. It was nice, he realised, having somewhere concrete to store his belongings. Having been on the road for so long, it felt almost luxurious to be able to put up shelves and proudly display knick-knacks on them; a tiny Mr Gutsy model he’d found for Duncan, a rare bottle of Nuka-Cola Quartz, a few boxes of sweets he’d been hiding from Chiv’s nimble fingers.

But that had only taken up a day and a half, at most. After that, he’d cleaned his gun twice, practised his aim, poked through Chiv’s workshop and tried his hand at modifying an old 10mm pistol he’d found in a crate. He’d gotten round to making his sniper’s nest atop the roof, scavenging a couple plastic chairs and a tarp from Concord to set up a little shelter. He’d played fetch with the dogs, tussled with Dogmeat and tried, to no avail, to teach Junkyard to roll over. But it was all busywork, filling the time and keeping his mind occupied. Any time he let his mind idle, he’d drift back to thoughts of Chiv; wondering if he was okay, if he’d found the scientist, if he was on his way home yet. Think of his awful combat skills, worry about how he was faring in the extreme conditions of the Glowing Sea. Wonder why he wasn’t home yet, make himself nauseous with the hundreds of different ways he could be injured or worse. Think of his big, dark eyes, his cocky smile, try _not_ to think of his hand rough and warm as he held MacCready against him that night before he left...

_Why are you so worried? He’s older than you, he’s survived out here longer than you have. Stop being so goddamn stupid._

MacCready had a whole arsenal of excuses up his sleeve, something he’d always been good at. _It’s because of the synth in Diamond City, we need to get moving if we’re really going to do something about the Institute. It’s because I need his help finding the cure for Duncan, he needs to get home quick so I can explain everything to him._ But whilst those things were technically true, that wasn’t what had him so worried, what was making his stomach churn and his mind distracted and his legs tremble restlessly.

Truthfully, he was just terrified of being left alone again.

MacCready groaned, closing the issue of Grognak he’d been trying to read. He was in Chiv’s bedroom, where he’d been hanging out all evening - and no, that _wasn’t_ weird, he told himself. Chiv hoarded the good comics, that was all. It definitely had nothing to do with the way the faint smell of oil, gunpowder and sweat on his sheets made him feel less alone and vulnerable. His eyes were itchy with tiredness, and he’d read the same page four times now without taking in a single word. The Nuka-Cola clock on the wall said it was 1am, and though he wasn’t entirely sure how accurate it was, it was definitely far too late to still be awake. Both dogs were deeply asleep, sprawled out and snoring on the bedroom floor, but MacCready was still finding it difficult to sleep at the garage; it was too open, too exposed, sitting like a huge glowing target on the side of the road. But the emotional and physical fatigue of the last few days was catching up to him, and he yawned widely as he lay back with a soft thump and stretched cat-like on Chiv’s bed. He rolled onto his side, dropping the comic onto the bedside table, trying to muster up the energy to drag himself back to his own bed to sleep; but there was a clunk, and then a crash, as something heavy fell to the floor. Dogmeat’s head shot up, throwing him an annoyed look. Grumbling, he leaned over the side of the bed to peer down, hoping he hadn’t broken whatever he’d knocked off.

It was Chiv’s photo frame, lying face-down on the hard concrete floor. Wincing, he gingerly picked it up, steeling himself in case he’d smashed the glass even more; but none fell out of the frame as he picked it up, and he figured it’d been cracked enough already that one or two more hairlines could go unnoticed. He turned it over, reached out to put it back…

And stopped.

The photograph was of Chiv.

He was lounging on a sofa in someone’s house, a beer in one hand, laughter on his face as he looked at the other person in the photo. Beside him sat an older man - MacCready would have placed him around his early forties. Dark hair, dark eyes, smart expensive-looking clothing. He was looking straight at the camera, a little smirk lifting one corner of his mouth, raising his own beer to the photographer. In the crook of his right arm, held protectively against his chest, was a baby.

This had to be Chiv’s friend - which meant that _that_ was the child who’d been stolen.

MacCready felt his breath come in a long, slow exhale. How was this possible? To not only find a working camera, but actually print the photograph...he looked again, harder. The photo looked ancient, faded completely white at the edges and greying out in the centre, the corners ragged and folded. The glass of the frame was broken, and had ripped down one side of the photo, obscuring part of the background. But even the background wasn’t right - bookshelves? Clean walls? Were those... _flowers_ in that vase? He felt, oddly, a little tremor of guilt - looking at the photo seemed invasive, somehow, especially knowing that the other man in it was dead. The baby really _was_ young, could only have been a few weeks old; his face was screwed up ready to cry, and there was a shock of dark hair atop his head that matched the older man’s. It struck MacCready that this picture had probably been one of their last days together. Who had taken it? He tilted the photo into the light, and there was writing, so faded it was almost unreadable; curling golden cursive, tucked right down in the righthand corner.

 _Chivalry, Nate & Shaun  
_ _Sept ‘77_

Chivalry?

 _Chiv-_ alry _._

So it _is_ a nickname.

But then, ‘77 had to be 2277, right? Which meant the photo should be a decade old, the baby nonexistent, and Chiv should be barely into his teens if MacCready had guessed his current age right. But that wasn’t the case. MacCready frowned, confused. He was certainly younger, sure, but not by _that_ much - it was just the carefree expression on his laughing face, the lack of bruising and hunger and fatigue that made him seem younger than he looked now. His hair was shorter, faded perfectly on the sides, the top short and neat and swept back, not like the uneven grown-out shave and long wild tangle he had now. He lacked facial hair, too, the familiar patchy scruff missing from his cheeks and jaw. His eyes, though - they were the same. Bright, dark and charming as ever. MacCready brushed his thumb lightly over the image. It was nice, seeing him so happy. He looked good when he laughed.

_What are you doing?_

MacCready didn’t know. He propped the photo back up on Chiv’s bedside table, suddenly reluctant to touch it. Yet again, he’d just managed to raise more questions than he’d answered. And not just about Chiv’s past. The little flutter in the pit of his stomach as he looked at Chiv’s laughing face was something he definitely did _not_ want to have to deal with right now. Especially not whilst he didn’t even know if the man was still alive. Junkyard whined in her sleep, a welcome distraction, and MacCready reached a drowsy hand down off the bed to gently stroke her soft ears.

‘Just who _is_ this guy?’ he murmured to her as the first threads of sleep began to claim him, but of course the dog had no answer. He fell asleep to the scent of Chiv on his pillow, and thoughts of laughing grey eyes and warm hands.

 

***

 

He woke to hot breath on his face.

He jolted upright, smacked his head on one of the shelves above the bed and fell back again, cursing and winding a hand tightly through his hair in an attempt to alleviate the pain. Instinctively he shoved his other hand under the pillow, expecting to find a gun, but there was nothing. A bolt of pure terror ran through him - _where the fuck was his pistol?! -_ but then Dogmeat licked a wet stripe up the side of his cheek and he remembered where he was. Red Rocket, Chiv’s room...Chiv’s bed. And of course the idiot didn’t sleep with a gun to hand.

Dogmeat whined frantically and, seeing MacCready was awake, he turned and dashed to the door, barking loudly. MacCready’s eyes wouldn’t focus, the harsh electric light he’d fallen asleep in too bright as he blinked blearily.

‘Whaa...whassup, boy?’ he managed to drawl, still not fully awake. Dogmeat whined again, body wriggling with tension, darted to him and seized the leg of his pants between his jaws, trying to tug him off the bed. MacCready swatted at him, and he let go, but his agitation didn’t cease; he ran in little circles, urgent whines and whimpers escaping from his throat. MacCready sat up again, slower this time, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as a growing unease settled in his chest. The clock on the wall said it was 4am. Something was wrong. Raiders? Gunners? ...Ferals? A little shiver ran through him as his feet touched the cold floor.

‘You want me t’follow?’ he mumbled at the dog, who barked again, jumping up at him as he pushed past the flag curtain on unsteady legs. His rifle was leaning against the sofa and he grabbed it as they passed, automatically checking the clip and flicking off the safety. No sense taking chances. Dogmeat was at the front door, his urgency making MacCready’s body tremble with adrenalin, forcefully shoving off the clinging shadows of sleep as he followed the dog out and around the back of the garage. The night was full of any manner of lurking dangers, and MacCready felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. It was quiet...too quiet.

He gripped his weapon tighter, picked up the pace as Dogmeat broke into first a lope, and then a flat-out sprint. He was leading him away from the garage, out across the grassland, towards the edge of the forest. MacCready was struggling to keep up; but then he saw the Concord water tower, and the dark shape lying at the base of it, and he found a burst of fear-fueled speed that had him skidding to a halt almost at the same time as the dog.

The power armor was fucked. One arm torn completely off, the helmet gone, a huge crack across the chest plating. Junkyard was there, guarding the fallen figure, tail wavering hopefully as she saw MacCready. He crashed to his knees beside the unmoving form, rifle forgotten in the dirt, hands hovering over the metal casing. Chiv’s head was lolling unprotected between the massive shoulder plates, blood and filth matting his hair to his scalp, and MacCready grabbed the sides of his face with both hands, holding his neck steady.

‘Oh shit, oh _shit_! Can you hear me? _Chiv_!’

Chiv didn’t respond, but the movement of his head sent a fresh trickle of blood sheeting down his too-pale face. MacCready forced himself to take it as a good sign - it meant his heart was still beating, at least. But his face was freezing cold beneath his hands, and he wondered with a sick stab of guilt just how long he’d been lying out here.

‘C’mon, man, c’mon, wake up, hey - we gotta, we gotta get you home. Chiv! Oh, fuck...what...I _told_ you not to go, you stupid...!’

There was no way he could drag him home, not in his power armor. MacCready let go of Chiv’s head reluctantly, trying not to look at the way it rolled bonelessly on his neck. Chiv was lying half-propped against the base of the water tower, and he threw himself down in the dirt, reaching into the gap between the armor and the concrete. It was too dark, he couldn’t see - _why hadn’t he grabbed a goddamn flashlight, hadn’t been thinking_ \- his hands fumbled desperately for the wheel on the back of the armor, the power core, _anything_ to get it off him before it became nothing more than a huge metal coffin. The back of the armor felt wrong under his touch; the left side felt like it had been caved in by something. He stretched further, pushing himself into the gap behind Chiv - and then his hands seized upon the release wheel. He tugged, hard, but it was stuck fast. He tried again, and again, panic making him clumsy, and then with a final huge wrench fueled by fear and fury the wheel spun with a pneumatic hiss. He cried out in relief, falling back as the armor opened, the back plate pushing against the tower and lifting it partially up off the ground. There was just enough room for Chiv’s body to fall halfway out from the metal prison, and MacCready grabbed him immediately, dragging him clear.

Nothing seemed broken, not visibly anyway - no bones sticking through the skin. But his right forearm had a ragged section of pink, new flesh; stimpak-healed, and recently. He felt for his wrist, pressed his fingers into the soft skin below the joint, counting in his head the way Lucy had taught him. The heartbeat was there, and he felt a heady rush of relief that it was strong and regular. Out of his armor, MacCready could see him breathing too, see the way a few stray strands of hair fluttered against his lips with every exhale - but it was slow, and shallow. His skin was ice-cold, and horribly pale. He had to get him home.

The dogs jumped around his feet as he stood and hauled Chiv onto his back in an awkward half-carry. His legs were dragging along the floor behind him, but MacCready wasn’t built right for stuff like this - Chiv was heavier than he’d expected, deceptively well-muscled for his average frame. With his rifle held awkwardly in one hand, and his other holding onto Chiv’s arm where it draped around his shoulder, it was difficult to move, and the walk back to Red Rocket was torturously slow. Dogmeat ran ahead, leading the way, whilst Junkyard stayed reassuringly close to the two men, and not for the first time MacCready was extremely grateful for their presence. If the dogs hadn’t been there to wake him up…

No use thinking about it. Chiv wasn’t safe yet.

He dragged him into the tiny bathroom, shutting the dogs out in the hallway. Chiv lolled against the bathtub, mouth hanging open in a horribly lifeless way. MacCready realised Chiv’s pack was missing, hadn’t thought to look for it - but by the looks of things, he’d run out of supplies some time ago. He grabbed for the crate in the corner, tore open the lid, dug around inside for whatever he could find that might help.

_Water first._

Crap, water - God, this was impossible, he couldn’t think straight, panic making his hands shake and his mind blurry. He forced himself to stop, to be still, to count five deep breaths. He’d do no good in a state like this. He turned back to Chiv, pushing aside his fears and trying to look at him from a medic’s viewpoint. He’d done field surgery before, this was nothing new. He just needed to detach himself and get to work.

He filled a bucket with water from the hand-pump in the corner, set to work washing the blood from Chiv’s face. Once cleaned, his injuries didn’t look quite so severe; his scalp was fine, which meant his brain likely was too. What made his stomach lurch, though, was the long curving slash that cut through his left eyebrow, clipped his cheek, split his lip and ended on his chin.

_What the fuck had done that?_

MacCready didn’t want to know. It seemed shallow enough, though, and stitching up someone’s face posed too much of a risk, so he settled for cleaning the wound as best he could, the bleeding slowing as the cool water numbed the area.

Chiv’s t-shirt was torn and bloody, covered in filth and grime. MacCready tried to tug it up over his head, but he didn’t want to risk opening the gash on his face again, so with a muttered apology he took the bandage scissors from the crate and cut it off him. His eyes widened as Chiv’s chest came into view, rising and falling shallowly with every breath. A huge three-pronged bruise was splashed across his torso, stretching all the way from his belly to his collarbone, the blood pooled beneath his skin mottling it deep shades of purple and blue. A deathclaw footprint - it had to be.

‘ _Oh.._. _’_ MacCready breathed. His fingers hovered over Chiv's skin, fearful to touch the severe contusions. Holy shit. He must have been caught out of his power armor. Which meant he’d have taken radiation too. There was nothing he could do for bruising, but he had a couple bags of RadAway. He’d need Med-X, too, for the pain, and stimpaks for the bleeding. He turned away, sorting through the collection of scavenged medicines he’d pulled hastily from the crate.

‘ _RJ…?’_

MacCready nearly jumped out of his skin.

‘Chiv!’

Chiv’s left eye was swollen shut, but his right was cracked open, a thin slice of grey peering up at him. He made to pull himself up into a sitting position, grabbed his ribcage and grimaced; MacCready seized him immediately, helping him up.

‘Hey, shit, don’t try and move so much. What _happened?!_ I found you out in the fields, Dogmeat - how did you even _get -_ you _stupid fucking idiot,_ look at you! I can’t believe you’re back, I’m so...but I tried to...I thought you were dead!’

Chiv tried to laugh, coughed, gritted his teeth.

‘Hey,’ he rasped, his voice hoarse from pain. ‘Nice to see you too, man.’

MacCready buried his face in his hands, teeth biting furiously into his lower lip. Chiv was awake, he was talking, he was gonna be okay. Deep breaths. He looked up after a moment, reaching again for the supplies, taking savage pleasure in the way Chiv’s eyes widened at the sight of the needles. He jabbed him a little harder than was perhaps needed, watching the other man flinch but then relax slightly as the drugs took hold. Chiv’s breathing was levelling out, the pain visibly easing, but MacCready gave him another half-syringe of Med-X to be sure. The way he’d winced earlier, and with the giant footprint on his chest, he had to have a least a couple broken ribs. MacCready hoped it’d been worth it.

‘Did you even find what you were looking for out there?’

Chiv nodded slowly, hazy, his good eye rolling lazily across MacCready in an almost seductive manner. MacCready could feel himself calming down, watching the way colour was slowly coming back into Chiv’s face, the way his breathing was levelling out and growing deeper. He was gonna be sore for a couple days, for sure - but he was going to be okay. And he was _back._

‘Yeaaah,’ Chiv slurred, a lop-sided grin twitching his cheek. MacCready swallowed. Chiv smiling like that was never a good sign.

‘And…?’

Chiv’s gaze was unfocused, his pupil blown out, but his eye was still alight with the fire of adventure as he grinned at MacCready.

‘You ever heard of an Institute Courser?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: ‘I lived bitch’
> 
> I know that canonically the Lone Wanderer just kind of...wanders off at the end of FO3. But my Lone Wanderer became a doctor and took up the work at Project Purity, continuing to develop new ways to improve the Capital Wasteland. That’s where Duncan is, in this story; in the hospital wing there, safe but deteriorating and in desperate need of a miracle. But it looks like the boys have got something bigger to contend with before MacCready can get to that cure…
> 
> Find me at [whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com!](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com/)


	5. Hunt

Chiv examined his face in the mirror, raising his eyebrows up and down, watching the way the curved scar pulled at his skin. The slash arched across his left eyebrow, split through the side of his lips and finished on his chin, a shallow white groove that he’d likely have for the rest of his life.

‘Could be worse,’ he said conversationally, pursing his lips at his reflection. ‘At least I didn’t lose my eye. But I guess it puts me out of the running for Miss Post Apocalypse.’

MacCready perched on the edge of the bathtub, swinging his legs idly, his damp hair dripping down his bare back as it dried.

‘I dunno, man. I think it makes you look kinda badass. Not many people can say they wrestled a deathclaw and lived.’

Chiv caught his eye in the mirror, winked at him.

‘It was two deathclaws, and I wouldn’t exactly call it wrestling. Lot more screaming involved than a standard match. But hey, when you put it that way…’

Chiv had healed surprisingly fast, considering the severity of his injuries that night MacCready had dragged him back from the fields. Three broken ribs, a dislocated knee, massive bruises on his chest and back where the deathclaw had body-slammed him into the dirt and then stamped on him, and the vicious slash to his face, plus dehydration; MacCready had joked that his power armor had practically been holding him together on the way home, but it was a little too close to the truth for comfort. They’d gone back to find Chiv’s armor two days before, once he could walk again, and seeing the damage in the daylight had chilled MacCready to the bones. The back was so severely damaged and caved in that he was astounded Chiv hadn’t broken his spine.

Still, it could have been a lot worse. He’d been lucky right up until the last moment; caught out of his power armor by a territorial pair of deathclaws after he’d stopped for a brief rest just an hour’s walk from the edge of the Glowing Sea. He’d been sheltering in an old cabin, which had afforded him a little protection and enabled him to pick off one of the deathclaws by shooting through the windows; but the other had circled round the back, ripped away the rotting doorframe and wreaked its revenge. Chiv had eventually managed to get back into his armor, but it was only when half the building came down on top of them, weakened by the loss of the supporting door, that the monster had been injured enough for him to get away. With his power armor so badly damaged he couldn’t get out again, and his supplies lost in the wreckage of the cabin, he’d dragged himself almost the entire way home. MacCready shuddered when he thought about it. He was fairly sure he’d have just sat down and given up after the first monster.

‘How’s my bruising looking?’

Chiv had turned his back to him, glancing over his shoulder. MacCready leaned forward, beckoned him closer, ran a hand over Chiv’s spine. The bruising wasn’t as bad as his chest but it was still fairly extensive, the skin marred with yellows as it healed, with one large reddish-purple patch left on his shoulderblades.

‘Still gross, but it’s definitely getting better.’ MacCready pressed his fingers over the worst area. ‘Does it hurt when I push on it?’

Chiv shook his head.

‘Nah. Bit tender, but nothing too bad.’

‘You’re good to go, then,’ said MacCready, but his fingers continued to trail over Chiv’s back, down to the puckered skin of his burn scar. He hadn’t had a chance to see it up close until all this happened, and it made him curious. The skin there was rough and raised, different to the soft texture of the rest of his back. It started on his spine, covered part of his lower back on the right side, curved around his hip and finished before it reached his stomach. He wondered, not for the first time, what had happened.

Chiv gave an odd little shiver and stepped away, but said nothing. MacCready watched as he pulled on his t-shirt - a new one, after he’d given MacCready grief for ‘ruining’ his other one by cutting it off him, not like he’d had any damn choice - then shook his head to bring himself back to the present, reaching for his own shirt. It was early morning, and today they were going hunting.

Courser hunting.

MacCready still couldn’t quite believe he’d agreed to this. When Chiv had told him what they had to do, the night he’d gotten back from the Glowing Sea, MacCready had assumed he was out of his mind from the mix of pain and drugs. He was talking nonsense, surely? But when he’d recovered and sobered up and repeated the exact same thing, MacCready had realised just how deadly serious he was. Deep in the irradiated ruin of the Glowing Sea, he’d found what he was looking for; an Institute scientist, who’d told him teleportation was the key to getting inside.

‘So these Coursers, they go up to the surface and catch the runaway synths,’ Chiv had explained a few days ago, propped up in bed with bandages wrapped tightly around his chest and Dogmeat lying across his legs. MacCready had been sitting on the floor beside him, back against the bed, playing one of the holotape games on Chiv’s Pip-Boy. ‘But they can’t exactly just leave a back door open for them or half the Commonwealth would be in there looting the place, right? So they _teleport._ And all the Coursers have a chip inside their heads that lets them do it. I dunno how it works. But that’s what we’ve gotta get. If we can get hold of a Courser chip, we can get into the Institute.’

MacCready thought drily that it would probably be best if they just let them all stay underground and rot. But he knew that wasn’t an option.

‘And how exactly are we gonna find a Courser? We gonna use a synth as bait?’

‘No. Apparently when they’re teleporting, they interfere with radio signals. So all we gotta do is find where they surface, and follow the static. It’s gonna be one hell of a fight, though. Virgil said Coursers are ruthless, trained only for battle, and they -’ He’d trailed off here, wincing in pain as a hacking cough racked his healing ribs. MacCready had made him shut up, abandoning ‘Zeta Invaders’ to help him sit up straighter and fetch him a can of purified water.

‘Well you aren’t fighting any Coursers like that. Forget it for a few days, Chiv. Just try and relax. The Institute isn’t going anywhere.’

And to his credit, Chiv had. He hadn’t mentioned it again for a little while, concentrating his energy into healing his battered body, though he’d retold the deathclaw story a thousand times, embellishing it more and more with each recount. But yesterday evening, over dinner, Chiv had turned to him with a very serious look in his eye and told him to ready his stuff for the fight. MacCready had swallowed his nerves along with the radstag stew, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared. Agreeing to sign on with Chiv and fight the Institute was one thing, but this was going to make it real. They were going to actively track down and assault a Courser. If the Institute was going to retaliate, this could be their last day of peace.

‘MacCready?’

He looked up, pulled from his thoughts. Chiv was standing in the bathroom door, framed by the light from the garage, head tilted as he looked at him. Bruised, scarred, but still standing tall and unafraid, determined to face whatever the wasteland could throw at him. MacCready felt the ghost of a smile brush his mouth. He was terrified, yeah, and the road ahead was going to be long and hard. But he’d walked hard roads for most of his life, so that was nothing new.

And this time, he wasn’t alone.

‘You ready to go?’

MacCready nodded, and stood up to fetch his gun.

 

***

 

The day was unseasonably warm, the late morning sun pleasant on MacCready’s back as he walked, munching on a mutfruit he’d stolen from one of the bushes at Graygarden as they’d passed. They were heading to the old CIT ruins, according to Chiv; taking a route that avoided Cambridge and Lexington, cutting them cross-country towards the river, where they could follow the water to the campus. Chiv was chattering away as usual, telling him some ridiculous story he’d overheard from some Raiders about a guy on a motorcycle. MacCready was only half-listening. The atmosphere between them was forcedly relaxed, both trying to be nonchalant about the upcoming fight; but MacCready could see the slight limp in Chiv’s stride, and his hand kept hovering near his ribs when he thought MacCready wasn’t looking. There was a little anxious coil pooling in his stomach telling him it was too soon, they’d rushed this, Chiv wasn’t back to full strength yet. But he’d insisted, and he was still technically the boss of the outfit, as much as the playing field had levelled out between them quite a lot since Mass Pike. All he could do was watch Chiv’s back and do his best to make sure he didn’t get hurt again. That was what he knew, and what he was good at.

_Good at? Tell that to Lucy. Tell that to Duncan, and all the Little Lamplight kids over the years you let get dragged off by mutants and slavers and raiders and -_

MacCready tossed the stem of the mutfruit aside, wiping a hand across his mouth with an almost imperceptible sigh. That wasn’t gonna happen this time, he told himself firmly, and focused back in on Chiv’s voice to drown out the one in his head.

‘And then he just takes off down the street, right, still making the noises with his mouth! I laughed so hard I gave myself away, had to run for it, the Raiders almost -’

MacCready couldn’t help but smile. Chiv was so animated when he spoke, his eyes lighting up and his hands waving enthusiastically as he acted out the scenes, his face twisting into ridiculous expressions. Having him back like this was making him realise how much he’d missed him, how wrong it had felt to be wandering the Commonwealth alone after even just a few weeks with Chiv. And it wasn’t just having someone to watch his back; it was this, the little things, being able to share jokes and stories and have someone actually listen. Listen, and care.

‘RJ? You in there?’

MacCready blinked; he’d been staring. The scarred corner of Chiv’s mouth was quirking up in a little teasing smile. He shrugged one shoulder.

‘Just thinking. I just...it’s really good to be back like this. The open road and a loaded weapon. What could be better than this?’

Chiv laughed.

‘Well, we could be going to a nicer destination. This isn’t just a romantic sunlit stroll along the river, y’know. I promise dates with me usually end a lot better than a firefight with a killer robot man.’

MacCready heaved an exaggerated sigh.

‘I didn’t miss that loud mouth whilst you were gone, that’s for sure.’

‘But you missed the rest of me, right?’ Chiv’s grin was positively shit-eating as he danced backwards down the road in front of him, leaning in to peer up under the brim of his cap. ‘You did! You _miiiissed_ me. Don’t deny it.’

MacCready was laughing again despite himself, pushing at him to get out of the way as he walked. Chiv grabbed his cap before he could stop him, stuck it on his own head, skipping backwards out of reach. MacCready had to admit, however grudgingly, that it actually looked quite good on him. Not that he’d ever say that out loud.

‘Fu- screw off, Chiv!’

Chiv circled around to walk beside him, slinging an arm over his shoulders. MacCready grabbed his hat back, jamming it firmly back onto his own head, and then slipped an arm around Chiv’s waist to balance them as they walked.

‘Well, I missed you,’ Chiv said casually; but there was something in his voice that made MacCready glance up at him from the corner of his eye. Chiv caught him looking and wrinkled his nose playfully. ‘No one to piss off or embarrass without you around.’

MacCready rolled his eyes, pinched Chiv’s side where his hand rested, earning himself a yelp and a chide to _watch the bruises, man, c’mon!_

‘Cut the sap, idiot,’ he said, but his chest felt suddenly full, his heart squeezing beneath his ribs. His head was light, his body buzzing with energy. With Chiv back at his side cracking terrible jokes, and the sun warming the way ahead of them, he could almost forget what they were walking into. The river was lapping gently at the bank, and even the ever-present scent of decay from the polluted water didn’t seem quite so strong.

He was brought rudely back to reality when Chiv’s arm slipped suddenly from his shoulders, his hand going to his ribs as he winced and stumbled. MacCready tightened his hand on his waist, concern furrowing his brows as Chiv held up a hand to stop them, hissing through his teeth.

‘Fuck...sorry. ‘M alright. Laughed too much.’

‘You don’t look alright,’ said MacCready, reluctantly letting his arm fall from around Chiv as the other man lowered himself down carefully onto the grass verge. MacCready slung his pack off his shoulders, hunting inside for a water bottle. ‘I’ve got some Med-X, if you want?’

Chiv shook his head.

‘No, makes me loopy. We gotta be on top form today. I’ll be okay, just lemme sit a few minutes.’

MacCready nodded and joined him on the roadside, taking the opportunity to stretch out his long legs. The sun was high above them, almost midday; they’d made good time so far despite Chiv’s discomfort. He propped himself back on his elbows, closed his eyes and let his head drop back. The sky overhead was still clear, and the distant warmth from the sun felt good on his face. The steep slope of the hill behind them protected them from ambush, and they could see clearly down both sides of the road. Still, MacCready kept his rifle well within arms reach.

Things had been...different between them, since Chiv had returned from the Sea. On the surface they were exactly the same; joking, laughing, messing around and taking nothing seriously. But there was a new underlying tension, something neither of them had wanted to voice out loud. MacCready couldn’t quite explain it, but he’d thought of Chiv as...untouchable, almost. He was always covered in scrapes and bruises, sure, but he’d never been _seriously_ injured whilst they were together. He’d just been this constant presence of strength and good health, pulling through any situation with only minor hurts. Seeing him unconscious that night, so vulnerable and at the mercy of MacCready’s rudimentary medical skills...it had made him more real, somehow. More human. There was still so much MacCready didn’t know about him, about his past. His mind kept flickering back to the photograph; he’d snuck into Chiv’s room to look at it again twice since the first night. How young Chiv had looked, and yet not much younger than now. He studied his profile, watching the other man unclip his armor and push up his t-shirt to gently massage the bruising on his ribs. His eyes were hidden by the hang of his messy dark hair, but MacCready could see his lips were pursed; through thought or from pain, he couldn’t tell.

‘Chiv…’

‘RJ, I…’

They both stopped, caught each other’s eye. MacCready tilted his head.

‘You first.’

‘Nah, it’s nothing important. What were you gonna say?’

MacCready shrugged one shoulder, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Would Chiv think he was just being intrusive? What if he’d mistaken the changes in their relationship? He considered Chiv a friend now, there was no doubt about that. But what if he was still just the hired gun?

‘I was just...will you tell me something about yourself?’

Chiv slowly pulled the hem of his t-shirt down, MacCready’s eyes following the movement. His expression had turned guarded, his grey eyes wary.

‘What do you wanna know?’

‘I...anything. We’ve been working together weeks and you’re still so closed-off. I figure you owe me for saving your life, right? So this is how you can pay me back. Tell me something about you.’

He waited, holding his breath. Chiv had gone very still. There was a little thread of excitement working through MacCready’s stomach as he watched Chiv deliberate his answer. _Please,_ he whispered internally. This was more than just a simple question, and they both knew it. If he answered, if he opened up...it meant he trusted him, considered him a friend, too. And that, MacCready realised, was something he really, truly wanted.

‘I’m two centuries old.’

MacCready’s stomach dropped.

‘Fu- shut up. I mean it, I want to know more about you. Don’t be a prick.’

Chiv turned to meet his eyes, and there was no humour in them.

‘I ain’t kidding. I was born in Los Angeles, in California, on October 10th...2053. Ended up in Massachusetts when - well, that’s not important. Either way, when the bombs dropped, I got into the Vault on the hill above Sanctuary. They froze us in these pod things. I thawed out two, three months ago? Kinda lost track of the days a bit. I’m the only survivor. That’s why I’m so crap at everything, why I can’t shoot for shit and keep messing up and saying stuff that doesn’t make sense. I’m pre-War, MacCready. I’m two centuries old.’

There was a very long pause.

‘If you don’t count the time I was frozen then I’m 24, though, so. There’s your fact about me.’

MacCready just gaped at him. How in the hell do you even _begin_ to respond to that? Pre-War ghouls weren’t unheard of, but someone like Chiv? It explained a lot, in retrospect; his weird accent, his utter uselessness in a firefight, his apparent obliviousness to any form of danger. His looks; the teeth, the skin, the weight and muscles. Explained, too, his cryptic comments; ‘ _I’ve been to Massachusetts, but not the Commonwealth.’_ But his head was reeling anyway. Chiv, pre-War? If anyone else had said it he’d have laughed in their face. But it all added up. And the photo; _Chivalry, Nate & Shaun, Sept ‘77. _ Not 2277, like he’d assumed. _2077._ The year the bombs fell. Which was why it looked so weird and old, why there’d been flowers and clean walls in the background. That, plus the Pip-Boy, were pretty much tangible proof that what he said was true.

Holy shit.

Chiv was 200 years old.

‘Well, you look damn good for your age.’

It was out before he could stop it, and he snapped his mouth shut immediately. Chiv’s face changed from wariness, to surprise, to confusion; and then he was laughing helplessly, doubling over, hands going back to his aching ribs. MacCready watched him, wondering if he’d gone mad under the strain.

‘You’re full of surprises, MacCready, you know that?’ Chiv said, once his giggles were under control. ‘I keep thinking if I tell people, they’ll think I’m a freak, a ghost, drive me off. It’s a lot to explain. I’ve seen enough to know outsiders aren’t welcomed around here. I’ve already been accused of being a synth. I didn’t even know what a synth was then, still nearly got shot. Kept my mouth shut since that.’

MacCready gave him a weird look, feeling slightly offended.

‘Chiv, we’ve been together for weeks. You should have known I’d be alright with it. If anything, it’s cool as heck. You got to see all this before it went to sh- hell.’ He gestured vaguely around him. ‘What was television like? Did you get to see the Silver Shroud show? You read comics, right? Did they ever end the Mastadonald and Skullpocalypse arc? What happened when Grognak fought the…’ He stopped suddenly, realising how insensitive he was being. ‘I...sorry.’

Chiv shrugged.

‘’S’fine. God knows I had enough questions when I walked out of that Vault. Wanna know the fucking weirdest thing? N- my friend had a robot, before the war. A Mr Handy. Used to joke all the time about how unreliable they were. And the damned thing survived. I walked down the street in Sanctuary that first day and there it was, trimming the fucking hedges like nothing had happened. I was convinced I’d gone insane, that the shock had me hallucinating.’

MacCready snorted with laughter.

‘Did he remember you?’

Chiv groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

‘Jeez, did he ever. Wouldn’t leave me alone. ‘Master Chivalry’ this and ‘Master Chivalry’ that for _days._ I always hated that he did that, was weird even before the war. Better than my surname, I guess, now that was too formal - only ever got called that when I was in trouble with -’

Chiv froze suddenly, and shot MacCready an oddly terrified look.

‘Uh…shit. Forget I said that.’

MacCready was nonplussed, cocked his head to the side to give him a questioning look.

‘What’s the matter? I already...uh. I mean. Your name is Chivalry?’

It was a bad save, but MacCready didn’t particularly want to admit he’d been snooping around Chiv’s room whilst he was gone. Chiv, thankfully, seemed too distracted to notice. He slowly started moving again, picking up his combat armor and buckling it back around his chest. The tips of his ears had gone very red.

‘You...don’t think it’s weird?’

MacCready stared at him. This was the guy who’d just told him he was two hundred years old, that he’d been on ice for _two entire centuries..._ and he was embarrassed of his _name?_

‘I grew up with kids called Knick-Knack and Eclair. Chivalry isn’t weird, it’s cool. Is that what Chiv’s short for?’

Chiv nodded, cinching the strap around his waist carefully to avoid squeezing his bruises. He paused, then sighed resignedly.

‘My full name is Chivalry Wolfgang Arroyo. If you ever tell _anyone_ else, I will destroy you.’ He punctuated this with a sharp jab to MacCready’s ribs. MacCready gasped, flinching away.

‘Hey! Alright! Relax!’ He batted his hand away. ‘Who am I gonna tell?!’

Chiv grinned sheepishly, shrugging one shoulder as he stood up.

‘I dunno. ‘M being silly, I know. I’ve just...it’s always been super embarrassing. I’ve been going by Chiv since I was, what. Thirteen? Thought it sounded a bit tougher. It wasn’t a normal name, before the war. Used to get the piss ripped out of me as a kid. My mom...we weren’t the richest of families. Fuck, we were dirt poor, lowest of the low. She thought a fancy-sounding name would help me out, make me seem better off than I was. Didn’t work,’ he added with a sharklike grin. ‘I was still the biggest little shit you’ve ever met. Constantly in trouble.’

MacCready laughed at that.

‘Bet you weren’t as bad as me.’

Chiv scoffed, taking MacCready’s hand and pulling him to his feet.

‘Try me.’

‘I was an anarchist Mayor at the age of twelve,’ said MacCready as they picked up their packs. Chiv stared at him, looking for the joke, but his face was completely straight. ‘Yup. Town called Little Lamplight. Run entirely by kids. MacCready, official Mayor-For-Fuckin’-Life. Looking back, it was horrendous; we got raided by slavers, mutants, Raiders, anyone and everyone who thought we were an easy target. It’s how come I learned to shoot so young,’ he explained, and saw the dawning realisation in Chiv’s eyes. ‘We all had to pull our weight. No mungos allowed. That’s what we called adults,’ he added, and grinned at the look on Chiv’s face. ‘I was a right little tyrant. Ran that place for four years, until I turned sixteen and had to leave. Still think you were worse than me?’

Chiv shook his head incredulously as they started off down the road again.

‘Didn’t have that much power, that’s for damn sure,’ he said, and MacCready felt a strange burst of pride. Chiv’s praise hit something deeper in him, satisfied an itch for acknowledgement he hadn’t had scratched in a very long time. And the warm glow spreading outward from his chest at the fact that Chiv had let him in, finally started explaining some of his mysterious past, was better than any amount of sunlight. They were friends; they trusted each other, they cared about each other. MacCready’s hand flitted briefly to his pocket, where Duncan’s letter was still carefully folded. In the days since Chiv had returned, he hadn’t found a chance to talk to him about it; but there was nothing holding him back now. He knew Chiv would help him. After this fight was over, he’d tell him everything.

Chiv’s hand found his as they walked side-by-side down the old road, and he wound their fingers together in a warm grip.

‘Thanks, RJ.’

MacCready didn’t need to ask what for. Their hands stayed linked as they walked along the riverbank, the old CIT ruins coming into view around the last bend. MacCready didn’t feel afraid. With Chiv at his side, he felt like he could take on the whole world.

 

***

 

They followed the Courser’s radio signal to Greenetech Genetics, stepped through the double doors, and walked straight into hell.

Massive explosions shook the building, gunfire rattling overhead, the acoustics of the foyer making it impossible to tell which direction it was coming from. The stench of blood and gunpowder was thick in the air, screams and shouts and chaos echoing off the tiled walls. MacCready’s foot slipped on a wide slick of blood that trailed across the floor and he went down with a yelp, his ankle twisting painfully. Chiv grabbed him immediately, dragging him over to the reception desk where he shoved him down into safety, using the desk as cover to raise his shotgun and scan the room. The foyer itself, thankfully, seemed empty; all the noise was coming from the floor above them. MacCready rolled his ankle carefully as Chiv dropped down beside him, face pale.

‘You sure this is the right place? Seems too quiet,’ MacCready quipped, testing his foot on the floor. Chiv slipped out from behind the desk, checking the stairs before beckoning MacCready over.

‘What do you reckon it’s here for?’ he asked as they climbed to the second floor.

‘I don’t know...but we’ve got more company,’ Chiv growled, nodding at a pair of bodies draped over a barricade. A cold chill clenched MacCready’s chest like a vice as he spotted the all-too-familiar logo pasted on the walls.

‘Gunners,’ he whispered. ‘The heck are they doing here?’

Chiv rifled through the pockets of one of the bodies, tossing a battered box of ammo to MacCready, who had to lean over the banister to grab it before it fell to the floor below.

‘Dunno. But it’s gonna make this a lot harder than it needs to be.’

The noise from above ceased abruptly, and both men froze; the tell-tale buzz of turrets losing their targets came clear in the sudden silence. Chiv took point, shotgun at the ready, as they moved through the darkened corridors. Signs of battle were everywhere; blood, spent casings, bodies with horrific laser-burn wounds and faces frozen in expressions of horror. Chiv jumped a mile when a loud voice suddenly burst over the intercom, frantically asking for reports of what was going on. They exchanged glances as the voice ordered reinforcements down to the lobby.

‘Ready up,’ muttered Chiv, taking cover beneath a window as the shutters on the opposite side of the wide auditorium rolled up, revealing turrets and Gunners all aiming directly for them.

Their teamwork had improved immensely since Chiv had started using the shotgun. He’d run in close, blasting and battering wildly, whilst MacCready hung back and picked off the turrets, and then provided covering fire, taking down the few Chiv hadn’t managed to slaughter in his initial attack. MacCready knew how he moved, how he worked, could anticipate his movements and reliably shoot past him or over his shoulders; and Chiv showed no fear when he did this, trusting him completely. It was a far cry from the mistrust they’d held that first meeting in the Third Rail, Chiv flashing him that alarming smile and telling him that no, he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t put a bullet in his back; but that was the risk, right? MacCready watched him through the crosshairs, finger held lightly beside the trigger as Chiv cleared the corridors and offices of the building ahead of him. The Courser always seemed one floor ahead of them, intermittent massive explosions rocking the building as they climbed the floors in pursuit. The Gunners were mostly wiped out by the time they reached them, just a few stragglers left to mop up. MacCready was trying not to look too closely at the bodies of those they killed. They’d been assholes, sure, and he had absolutely no regrets about leaving; but there was still the risk that behind the sunglasses and bandanas, they might be someone he’d shared a drink, or a cigarette, or a joke with.

They’d reached the eighth floor, MacCready’s ankle throbbing and Chiv panting that there couldn’t be much further to go, when it happened. Five Gunners, the last remaining handful of survivors, rushed them together in a desperate last-ditch attempt to bring them down and save themselves. MacCready was too close for his rifle to be of any use, caught off-guard - _stupid, rookie mistake, not like you_ \- so he resorted to Chiv’s technique of viciously bashing their faces with the stock, kicking and punching. One went down, but then another seized him by the arm and dragged him through a doorway, separating him from Chiv and his shotgun. MacCready punched him in the face, connecting squarely with his nose, feeling it crack beneath his fist; the Gunner reeled back, hands flying up instinctively to stem the sudden spray of blood, and MacCready bore down on him, sending them both crashing to the floor. Chiv’s shotgun was roaring in the corridor behind him, and he heard the sick squelch of flesh being torn apart by the scattered shot. His assailant had dropped his pistol when they fell, and MacCready’s hand scrabbled across the floor for it, fingers finally closing around the cold steel. He shoved the barrel against the Gunner’s temple, ignored the hands pawing at his face, squeezed the trigger, jerked his head back to avoid the spray of blood. His ankle was throbbing painfully when he stood, tossing the pistol down disdainfully on the broken body at his feet.

The corridor outside was silent.

Fear rising hot and acidic in the back of his mouth he crept to the doorframe, edged slowly around it. Chiv was standing alone in the hallway, back to him, staring down at the floor.

‘Chiv…?’

His head whipped around, and MacCready drew in a breath at the shell-shocked expression on his face. Chiv’s mouth opened, working noiselessly for a moment before he heaved out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. MacCready stepped out into the corridor.

‘You okay?’

‘Yeah,’ said Chiv. ‘Yeah, I’m okay.’

He was lying, but MacCready had seen the body on the floor, and was too busy staring to notice. A young man, couldn’t have been any older than MacCready himself, similar messy brown hair and hate-filled blue eyes that were glazing over as they stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. It could have been his twin. MacCready gave a little shiver. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that if he’d stayed with the Gunners that could very easily have been him.

‘I’m glad you left them,’ muttered Chiv, and MacCready suddenly realised what was wrong. Chiv’s face was extremely pale and he didn’t look at the body of the young man again as he turned away, leading them down the corridor towards the last set of stairs.

‘Yeah,’ said MacCready. The heel of his foot dipped into the pool of blood around the body of his doppelganger as he passed, leaving a trail of footprints behind him as he climbed the stairs. ‘Me too.’

 

***

 

They’d known the Courser would be quick. They’d known he would be strong, and deadly, and more than a match for even the two of them combined. What they hadn’t known, was that he could turn himself _fucking invisible._

MacCready snarled, teeth bared in primal fury as he tried to get a clear shot, but it was impossible; the Courser was constantly on the move, just a heat-wave glimmer in the air, there one second and gone the next. MacCready couldn’t pin him down. He’d caught him with a few shots, but those were flukes, and even the one that had caught him directly in the forehead - and it _had_ hit him, he’d seen the shimmer where the head should be fling back, heard the sound of bullet hitting flesh - hadn’t done much more than slow him down for a few seconds. It was like fighting a machine...an extremely angry, dangerous machine. Chiv was out in the open, his shotgun’s wide spread doing better than MacCready’s rifle, and there was a definite growing splash of blood hovering in the air now, denoting the Courser’s location; MacCready squinted down his scope again, trying to follow the blood trail and get a decent shot in. Chiv yelled suddenly, and MacCready turned in time to see his legs being pulled out from underneath him, his head bouncing off the floor as he went down, his combat armor thankfully protecting his spine. MacCready fired, focusing on the shimmer in the air above him, and _yes!_ The Courser flickered back into view, his face twisted in fury as he looked down at himself, then up at MacCready.

_Ah, shit._

Abandoning Chiv, who was twitching on the floor, the synth turned to his new target, his face pinched with bloodlust. MacCready stood to run, to find new cover; but his ankle twinged suddenly, the twist from earlier sending shooting pains through the joint, and he staggered. It was enough. The Courser grabbed MacCready’s rifle, snarling in his face, ripping it easily from his grasp and grabbing him around the neck. He squeezed viciously, drawing a gurgling cry from MacCready’s throat as his airways were cut off. MacCready dragged his nails down its face, brought a knee up to jab as hard as he could into his stomach as they went down, but its body was like iron. He felt the wet heat of blood on his leg from the Courser’s wounds, the scent of copper thick in his nose, but despite the injuries the synth didn’t slow down. He bore down on him, hands squeezing hard around his throat, and his grip was like a steel vice. MacCready felt the edges of his vision going black - he spat, thrashed, kicked and clawed at the Courser’s eyes - _Chiv, where was Chiv?! -_ felt his heart hammering in his chest as he struggled to draw breath, a horrible rattle coming from his throat -

‘Get the _fuck away from him!’_

And then suddenly the synth was gone, torn from him by a boot to the face, and he was rolling onto his side choking and coughing and heaving in great gasps of air. He looked up in time to see Chiv pinning the synth to the floor with one foot crushing his throat, shotgun pressed painfully against his stomach, his whole body a trembling line of pure fury. Before the Courser could move he pulled the trigger once, twice, three times; the Courser’s insides splattered the floor in a sick slick of gore. MacCready managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, his hands trembling as he reached for his neck. He was gonna have a seriously nasty bruise there, he could feel it, his skin burning and aching. A second later Chiv was by his side, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders.

‘Are you okay? RJ, look at me! You alright? Can you breathe?’

MacCready nodded, his throat too tight to speak, breath whistling through his swollen airways. Chiv tipped his chin back with one hand, raised the other to touch the red ring around his neck; stopped, looked at the gore coating his fingers, wiped them off on the jacket of a fallen Gunner. He gave MacCready a shaky little grin.

‘You scared me.’

 _You scared me,_ MacCready tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Chiv helped him to his feet, MacCready’s hand still hovering tentatively at his throat. The look on Chiv’s face as he looked at his neck said it all, and he started to reach for their pack, but MacCready waved him off. He gestured to the body on the floor, pointing to it’s spine.

‘ _Chip,’_ he managed to grate out. Chiv nodded and pulled out his knife.

The chip was tiny, a little round nodule fused into the synth’s spinal cord. MacCready just stared at it as Chiv held it up. _That_ was what they’d gone through everything for? Chiv looked pleased, but MacCready didn’t share the sentiment. He hoped it was worth more than it looked.

A sudden sound came from the little room off the main chamber; the girl they’d spotted cowering inside when they first entered had come to the window, was banging on the thick glass. Chiv cast one last concerned look at him before hurrying over to the terminal. MacCready had never been good with computers, couldn’t wrap his head around how Chiv managed to crack into them in the first place let alone get them to do anything. He found a water bottle in his pack, forced some down despite the shooting pains every time he swallowed, rubbed a little on his neck to cool the hot tender skin and try to ease the pain.

‘Thank you...I don’t know what to say,’ the synth girl was saying in a soft voice as he made his way across the room to Chiv. ‘I’m K1-9...I mean, I’m Jenny. I knew they’d send a Courser after me but...I didn’t think he’d find me this fast,’ she added, glancing wide-eyed at the body on the floor. ‘I can’t believe you managed to take him down. Maybe they aren’t invincible after all.’

‘Nah, we’re just super badass,’ MacCready rasped as he came up behind them. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, but the water had helped, the pain receding slightly.

‘You gonna be okay?’ asked Chiv, and MacCready side-eyed him. Why was it their problem? She was a synth. But thankfully the girl just nodded, straightening her back.

‘I don’t need any help. If I’m going to survive out here, I’ve got to take care of myself. Thank you, though.’ She frowned prettily. ‘How did you know I was here in the first place?’

‘We didn’t come here for you,’ said MacCready, and Chiv frowned at him.

‘We came here for the Courser. It’s just luck we managed to help you out. Are you sure you’re gonna be alright? Take one of the guns lying around here, at least.’

The synth girl nodded, and gave them both a shy smile, which MacCready didn’t return.

‘I’ll be fine. I know where to go. They talk about it all the time, in the Institute. I thought it was a rumour, but they’ve got a guy on the inside. He helps us get out.’

MacCready nodded, but Chiv’s eyebrows shot up.

‘Serious? Like a secret society?’

‘You’ve never heard of the Railroad?’ rasped MacCready. ‘They’re the Commonwealth’s worst kept secret. Bunch of do-gooders.’ He winced and his hand fluttered to his throat as pain shot through it, cutting him short. Chiv was staring down at the bloodied chip in his hand, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

‘You reckon they could help us with this?’

MacCready shrugged one shoulder.

‘Maybe. If we can find ‘em.’

‘Well, that’s easy.’

They both turned to look at the girl. She was looking with interest at the chip in Chiv’s hand, and he closed his fist around it, tucking it carefully into his pocket. The girl began to move towards the door, picking up a pistol from one of the fallen Gunners and examining it in a way which told MacCready she had never held a gun before in her life.

‘Everyone in the Institute knows how to find them. Everyone who wants to escape, I mean.’

Chiv and MacCready exchanged looks, and the girl paused to smile disarmingly over her shoulder as she slipped out of the door.

‘You just have to follow the Freedom Trail.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever I fight the Gunners there’s almost always one that looks like MacCready, and it jars me a bit. Could so easily have been him.
> 
> Find me at [whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com!](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com/)


	6. Honesty

They emerged from Greenetech Genetics into a city bathed in twilight, the dusk creeping across the sky and casting the skyscraper skeletons with an eerie glow. MacCready didn’t like the open city at night; sound carried too far, the slightest stumble on a stray can could betray your location to anyone (or anything) with a sharp ear for miles around. The stale evening air was hot on their faces, the taste of metal in the backs of their throats. MacCready had always wondered if that taste was the decaying buildings, or radiation; whether it was clogging his lungs with every breath, mutating his insides, slowly killing him from the inside out. He wondered if Chiv would die quicker, his pre-War body unable to take the strain, and a shudder ran up his spine. The city at night inspired morbidity, the groaning of the ancient buildings like a death rattle as they swayed above their heads.

Chiv’s limp was much more pronounced now as they made their way back along the road beside the river, the stench of the stagnant water filtering up through the cracks in the asphalt. Without the adrenalin from the battle through Greenetech, the pain of both their injuries was returning with a vengeance. MacCready hung back, slipped an arm around Chiv’s waist, let him lean his weight heavily against him as they walked. His breathing was coming out in a pained hiss every few steps.

‘I told you you weren’t well enough for this.’

Chiv’s low chuckle vibrated through his side.

‘’M fine, RJ. Just done a lot of walking today. I’ll be alright once we get home. We can go by Lexington now it’s dark, get back a lot quicker. I’m gonna sleep for an entire day when we get back, I swear.’

MacCready grunted in reply.

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. We gotta get there first,’ he rasped, wincing as his throat twinged with pain. The Courser’s grip had been like a steel vice, crushing his windpipe, and his voice was still hoarse and scratchy. He rubbed absently at the dark ring of bruising around his throat with his free hand as they walked. Chiv’s bad leg was dragging along the ground every few steps, scuffing and scraping and slowing them down.

Something was moving in the water beside them; MacCready could hear the displacement of the current. He picked up the pace a little, ignoring Chiv’s muffled whimper of pain as he tightened his grip on his side, pressing down on his bruised ribs. They took a side road away from the river, into the darkened streets, but Chiv had slowed almost to a halt, shaking his head and grinding his teeth as he let go of MacCready and leaned against the side of a building.

‘I gotta stop, I gotta...you said you had Med-X?’

MacCready realised, suddenly, that Chiv must have dosed himself up before they left Red Rocket that morning. It explained the hyperactive energy he’d had on the road, the sudden burst of pain that had forced him to stop. He frowned, wanting to be angry with him for rushing the attack; they could have waited, Coursers came to the surface all the time, surely? But there was nothing they could do about it now, and the whiteness of Chiv’s face now the adrenaline had worn off was a little worrying. He sat down beside him, in the shadow of the tumbledown building, feeling uncomfortably exposed.

‘Yeah.’

He dug the syringe out of his pack; there was a half-dose left in it, just enough to take the edge off Chiv’s pain and enable them to get home. He watched as Chiv unzipped his jeans and shoved them down past his knees to carefully inject the painkiller. His kneecap was swollen; it’d been dislocated in the Glowing Sea, and he’d walked back almost the entire way with it out of place. MacCready was fairly sure he’d done some internal damage to the muscles and tendons, but Lucy had always been the medical expert, not him. His eyes trailed up Chiv’s legs as the other man massaged the injection site, biting his lip. There was a ragged scar on his thigh, high up; a thick line of raised white skin, the telltale marks of stitches visible either side of it. For a guy who was pre-War, Chiv sure had a lot of scars. MacCready’s eyes traced the line until it slipped under Chiv’s underwear, and he swallowed hard and tore his gaze away, digging in his pack for his water bottle to distract himself.

Chiv dragged his jeans back up his legs, arching his back to zip them. His eyes were glazing slightly as the Med-X did its work, his pupils growing large and dark as it flushed the pain from his system. A lazy smile quirked the corner of his mouth, and he raised a hand to slowly give MacCready a thumbs up.

‘Mmmuch better,’ he drawled. ‘Gimme a minute and we’re good to go.’

MacCready took the opportunity to take a long drink from his water. His throat was tight, painful, the muscles spasming as he tried to swallow, half of the water dribbling back out of the corner of his mouth again. He cursed, dropped the bottle as water dripped from his chin and spilled onto his jacket. Chiv giggled, voice light from the Med-X, then stopped as MacCready’s hands went to grip his throat, his face screwed up in pain.

‘’S’really that bad?’

MacCready just nodded, throat too tight to speak. Chiv stared at the bruising, a strange expression darkening his grey eyes. He’d pulled his lower lip into his mouth, biting at it distractedly. After a moment, he moved, reaching out to gently touch the side of MacCready’s jaw. Something in his painkiller-hazed gaze made MacCready pause, his fingers stilling.

‘Lemme have a proper look at it.’

MacCready tilted his head up obediently as Chiv’s hand slid around to hold the side of his neck, his thumb brushing over his skin. His mouth twisted sympathetically. The bruises were stark against MacCready’s sun-tanned skin, a dark ring of deep purple blemishes encircling the front of his throat. The Courser had squeezed so hard he’d left individual fingermarks. Chiv shifted onto his knees, leaning in closer, and MacCready swallowed. His back was pressed against the rough bricks of the building, Chiv effectively trapping him against the wall in a way that made a little tremble run up his spine. The bridge of Chiv’s nose was flushing pink again, MacCready suddenly very aware of his thighs brushing against his own. The air was growing heavy between them, MacCready struggling to draw enough into his lungs.

‘I shoulda saved you some Med-X, huh?’ Chiv murmured, his voice unusually quiet. MacCready tried to laugh, but the rasp of his voice made it come out like the squeak of a rusted hinge caught in a draft. He settled for shaking his head slightly, not wanting to dislodge Chiv’s hand. His heart rate was picking up suddenly, his exhaustion gone. Chiv was very, _very_ close now. Close enough that he could see a tiny scar in the corner of his left eye, a dot of red marring the white. The rasp of the bruising disguised the slight tremble in his voice.

‘One of us has gotta stay sober,’ he managed to get out, eyeing Chiv’s huge dark pupils, but then Chiv’s tongue darted out to swipe against his full lower lip and MacCready stopped being able to think at all.

‘I can think of somethin’ else that might help,’ Chiv replied, and his voice was very low now, his words slow and just edging on slurred. _He’s high, you need to stop him,_ whispered a voice somewhere very deep in the very back of MacCready’s mind. _He’s only doing this because he’s dosed up on painkillers._ But MacCready’s heart was pounding so loud in his ears it all but drowned it out.

Chiv leaned in slowly, not breaking eye contact, watching MacCready’s face for any sign of rejection or hesitation. He could feel his hand shaking slightly on his neck, a minute tremble that was barely there but betrayed the same nervousness MacCready was feeling. MacCready, for his part, could do nothing but draw in shaky shallow breaths and watch as Chiv dipped his head. He could feel his breath on his throat, ghosting hot across his sensitive bruised skin, making him shiver in anticipation. Chiv’s thumb slipped up to gently press on his jaw, encouraging his head to tip back further and expose the line of his throat; and, after a moment of teetering on the edge of _what, should I, I don’t, what is..._ instinct took over and MacCready let his eyes slip to half-mast, tilting his head back until it thumped against the wall. Chiv’s little sigh was almost drowned out by the heartbeat pounding in his head, but his mouth was so close to MacCready’s skin he felt it rather than heard it. There was a moment of suspension, a feeling of walking out over a ravine, and then Chiv’s mouth gently brushed against the soft skin of his throat, just below his ear. His breath rushed out in a shaky huff as Chiv’s lips moved softly, oh so softly, along the line of red and purple circling his neck. Kisses so gentle they were barely there, but it was enough to make MacCready’s heart race and his fingers twitch on the rough pavement. Chiv pressed a kiss more firmly to the hollow of his throat, the sweet spot where his pulse rushed just beneath the surface, and he closed his eyes fully to the sensation. The noise of the city had faded, his head full of his own heartbeat and a constant mantra of _what, what, what_ as Chiv completed the arc of bruising, his nose brushing against his earlobe as he followed the line right up the side of MacCready’s neck. He drew back slightly, just far enough that when MacCready forced his eyes open again, he could meet his gaze. Chiv’s eyes were dark, heavy lidded, shadowed with something MacCready couldn’t name but that pulled on something deep in his belly.

‘Better?’

Unable to form a reply, MacCready’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and Chiv’s eyes snapped to the movement. He swallowed visibly. His hand was still cupping the side of MacCready’s neck, his thumb rubbing against the sharp edge of his jaw, and MacCready felt his fingers shift. His gaze didn’t leave MacCready’s mouth, his lips parting slightly. There was a burning, pulling sensation in MacCready’s stomach, his whole body suddenly restless but also unable to move, to expend the nervous energy flooding his system - all he could do was hold still, effectively pinned against the wall. He wasn’t sure he’d have wanted to move even if he could. MacCready couldn’t help but feel the whole manic day had been leading up to this; the secrets shared that morning, Chiv’s hand lacing into his own as they walked, the fight through the building and Chiv’s recklessness to save him from being choked to death by the Courser... Chiv was so close now he could almost feel the words on his lips, murmured so quiet but so clear to MacCready’s heightened senses.

‘RJ...can I…?’

Gunfire rang out suddenly and both men leapt apart like they’d been burned, Chiv’s pupils huge in his wide eyes as he reeled back away from MacCready. MacCready’s heart was going a mile a minute as he scrabbled for his rifle, his mind a blur, trying desperately to process _what the fuck had just happened._ The gunfire was rattling far too close for comfort, the zip and sing of stray bullets echoing in the night air, the sounds of screaming and shouting coming from just a few streets over. Raiders and mutants, it sounded like; MacCready could hear the hair-raising yowl of one of their hounds, a horrible sound like wind through a ruined building. The Raiders were losing, by the sounds of it. Chiv had found his shotgun, his pack back over his shoulder, his foot tapping restlessly against the floor as he moved to crouch beside MacCready. The constant bouncing of his leg was pissing him off and he thumped a fist down hard on Chiv’s thigh.

‘ _Shhh!’_

They waited out the firefight in silence, MacCready taking the opportunity to bring his body back under control, slowing his breathing in the same way he did before making a risky shot. His mind kept going to Chiv’s thigh beneath his hand, Chiv’s body pressed close behind him, and every time he’d shove the thoughts aside furiously. Chiv had been about to kiss him, this time there was absolutely no denying it, and MacCready’s neck was still tingling with the phantom brush of his mouth over the bruises. He gritted his teeth. This was _not_ supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this again, not after...I mean, sure, Chiv was his closest friend out here now, and they had each other’s backs, and he’d missed him like hell when he’d been in the Glowing Sea, and he’d been so frightened that night he’d dragged his broken body in from the fields, and his heart definitely skipped a little in his chest when Chiv took his hand or shot him a wink from those big, dark grey eyes...but that didn’t mean...that didn’t...

Oh, _man._

_Robert Joseph MacCready, you are a hopeless idiot._

The gunfire faded away, the last few agonised cries of the dying Raiders gurgling in the still air. MacCready heard the deep guttural laughter and jeers of the mutants as they moved off, their footsteps thundering on the ground. Only good thing about ‘em, he thought drily - no way a super mutant was ever gonna sneak up on you. They waited in silence until the last of the sounds had faded, MacCready judging it safe to move. He’d made it halfway down the street before he realised he was alone.

‘Chiv?’

Chiv had been staring off into nothing, still crouched in the lee of the building, and he started when MacCready spoke, looking around with a lost expression on his face. His dark hair was in disarray, one hand running through it distractedly. He looked embarrassed, ashamed; MacCready’s gut twisted uncomfortably. _Should have stopped him. Business relationships, MacCready; maybe even calling each other friends was a step too far._

But, he realised with a sinking feeling, he didn’t _want_ just a business relationship with Chiv. It was far, far too late to try and go back to that now.

‘Huh?’ said Chiv, then; ‘oh.’

MacCready raised an eyebrow at him as he jogged down the street to catch up, but noticed with satisfaction that his limp had all but disappeared. They’d be able to make good time now, could make it home in the early hours of the morning if they set a good pace. They fell into step beside each other, weapons held at the ready, the only sound their feet on the ground and the jostling of their packs. Neither man spoke. Neither had anything they could say to explain the tumultuous swirl of emotions rushing in their heads.

The rest of the trek home was completed in almost total silence.

 

***

 

It was full-dark by the time they reached the Drumlin Diner, the last stop on the road before Concord and home. It was still lit up, though the owner was holding a shotgun in her hands very pointedly as they trudged up to the doors. It was suspiciously late for lone travellers to be on the roads, they knew, but she took one look at their weary faces and full packs and lowered the weapon, gesturing them inside. Chiv took both their packs and headed in, MacCready’s heart skittering a little in his chest as their hands brushed together. There was a campfire outside by a couple of picnic benches, a ragtag group of caravan guards and their employer slumped around the warmth of the flames, but MacCready wasn’t in the mood to make friends. He slunk around to the back of the building in the darkness, taking the chance to relieve himself after so many hours on the road. He and Chiv hadn’t stopped once, having set as fast a pace as Chiv’s knee would allow in order to get home quicker, and MacCready’s legs were aching, his throat burning with pain from the hike. He leant his rifle up against the side of the building and sighed as he unzipped his jeans. They hadn’t spoken, except to point out landmarks or mutter a warning to skirt a pack of mongrels. Chiv’s painkillers had worn off a little while ago, but he’d remained uncharacteristically quiet, not making eye contact, his demeanour quiet and withdrawn. MacCready had tried to persuade himself it was just from the pain, but his gut was telling him otherwise. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of a good way to bring up what had happened back in the city, short of _hey, man, so you almost kissed me back there. Wanna tell me why? ...Wanna maybe try again?_

‘You’re getting in too deep, RJ,’ he growled to himself. ‘You’re getting careless.’

‘I’d agree with that. You know, for a Courser-killer, you don’t look very tough.’

MacCready turned immediately, teeth bared, one hand fumbling to zip his jeans as the other flew to his gun. A caravan guard was leaning up against the wall of the diner a few paces away, strategically out of arm’s reach, and it horrified MacCready that he hadn’t heard him approach. _Goddamn Chiv, distracting prick!_ MacCready got his rifle in hand and pointed it squarely at the guard’s chest. He held up his hands to show he was unarmed, smiling lazily, but MacCready’s gaze swept his body for concealed weapons anyway. He was dressed in road leathers, nothing out of the ordinary, but then danger didn’t usually wear a helpful sign.

‘Hey, peace, friend. I just wanted a look at the Institute’s new public enemy number one.’

MacCready’s rifle was still pointed directly at his heart and he flicked the safety off in a very pointed gesture.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

The drifter smiled disarmingly, but his eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, and MacCready couldn’t get a handle on him. His accent was unusual, slow and drawling yet oddly familiar. He racked his brain, trying to think where he’d heard it before. He was sure he didn’t recognise the guy, but then he was just a caravan guard; they could have passed each other on the road a hundred times. _Anyone can be a synth. Anyone._

‘You’re a terrible liar, MacCready.’ His smile broadened at the way MacCready’s finger twitched on the trigger, the way his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He knew his name? What the fuck else did he know? ‘But I’m not here to threaten you. I’m just here to say hello.’

MacCready suddenly realised why his accent seemed so familiar; it was like a more exaggerated version of Chiv’s. The association, plus the fact that Chiv himself was just the other side of the thin diner wall and it was unlikely this guy would try anything with so many armed people in close proximity, made him ease his finger back from the trigger and lower the barrel of his rifle until it was pointed at the guard’s stomach.

‘Who are you?’

‘A friend. At least, I’m hoping we can be friends.’ The guard raised a hand to itch at his dark hair; MacCready caught the unnatural shift of the hairline as he did so, realised it was a wig, his suspicions only growing stronger. ‘You and your Vault Dweller pal in there killed a Courser today. That’s no small feat. But I have to ask...why?’

MacCready’s gaze flicked to the diner wall and back again. He could hear muffled voices inside. His gut was telling him this guy was an Institute spy, a synth sent to take them both out in revenge; he hadn’t expected them to move that damn quickly, thought they’d have a few days at least. But why bother coming in disguise? And the way the man’s voice had betrayed just the slightest hint of excitement when he asked about the Courser’s death...MacCready frowned at him.

‘That’s our business.’

‘Correctamundo, pal, but it might just be my business too.’ The drifter pushed away from the wall and MacCready took a step back, rifle snapping back up to his chest. ‘Easy, one more question and I’m gone. Did you take anything from the body?’

MacCready’s mouth fell open in surprise, and it was enough of an answer. The caravan guard’s smile grew even broader and he nodded. Inside the diner, the voices were receding.

‘That’s all I wanted to know.’ Footsteps in the dirt, Chiv leaving the diner. ‘My friends are very eager to get a look at your little trophy. Could be an exciting development down the old dusty Trail. We’ll be waiting for you.’

‘MacCready?’

He turned, Chiv jogged over, and when he looked back the caravan guard was gone. _Synth teleportation?_ he thought, but then Chiv jerked his head in the direction he’d been standing in.

‘Who was that?’

MacCready didn’t know how to answer.

‘I thought he was a caravan guard, but…’ He shrugged one shoulder, a little frown wrinkling his brows. ‘Just some weirdo. Doesn’t matter. Good haul?’

Chiv nodded, cracking his jaw on a cavernous yawn as MacCready retrieved his water and rifle and they trudged round to the front of the diner. MacCready collapsed with a groan onto one of the picnic benches, stretching out his aching legs. The caravan was moving on, the Brahmin lowing gently further down the road, leaving them with the fire to themselves. MacCready was glad of the rest without the tension of the strange guard watching them from behind those dark sunglasses. Chiv dumped their packs on the table beside him. Both were noticeably flatter, a satisfying jingle of caps coming from Chiv’s as it hit the wood.

‘Yeah, got rid of all the excess ammo we picked up. Even managed to sell off that duct tape _someone_ said was a waste of time picking up,’ he said, kicking MacCready’s outstretched leg gently for emphasis. MacCready just smiled, glad they were talking again. The awkward tension of the hike had been almost unbearable. Absurdly he’d been worried Chiv had blamed him somehow, was angry at him for...something, for not stopping him sooner or for not saying something afterwards. But then Chiv rustled in his pack for a moment, hesitated, and cleared his throat.

‘Uh. And I got you a present.’ He gave MacCready an uncharacteristically shy smile. ‘Close your eyes and hold out your hands.’

‘Don’t be a child,’ grumbled MacCready, but he obeyed anyway with a little tingle of excitement. A present? He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done to earn it, but it’d been a long time since he’d been given anything for free and he wasn’t gonna say no. Chiv’s pack rustled again, and then he dropped something light and flexible into MacCready’s upturned palms. He frowned, rubbing his fingers over the textured surface, trying to work out what it was.

‘Okay, you can open ‘em.’

He did. Resting in his hands was a leather forearm brace; and an extremely good quality one at that. Burnished brahmin leather carefully hand-stitched and reinforced, and there was even light tooling detail on the wide straps. He wondered, briefly, who had made it; who it had been made for. This wasn’t your average Raider-scavenged gear, that was for damn sure.

‘Jeez, how much did this cost you?!’ He ran his fingers over the stitching, turned it over to examine the buckles. No signs of damage at all; it could have been brand new.

‘Doesn’t matter. I thought it’d help with your sniping? Make it easier to rest your arm on stuff, I dunno. You like it?’

MacCready looked up at him, ready to get mad about Chiv wasting their caps; but to his surprise there was a light flush of pink across the bridge of Chiv’s nose, just visible in the firelight, the other man’s eyes watching him hopefully. He suddenly understood the gift for what it was; a peace offering, an apology. MacCready softened.

‘I do, but why? What’s it for?’

‘Well, hey, I...wanted to thank you. For helping me today. And apologise for...y’know. I know shit’s gone way beyond our original contract between us, and…’ He raised a hand to scruff through his hair, his usually silver tongue lost for words. ‘I dunno, man, I just really appreciate you sticking around and stuff. I want you to know how much your friendship means to me, y’know? So, uh. Thanks.’ He paused. ‘Also I feel a bit bad about your neck and hogging all the Med-X, so. There’s that too I guess.’

MacCready laughed, an incredibly warm feeling spreading outwards from his chest, heating up his face and making his limbs feel weightless. He summoned his courage, forced himself to acknowledge out loud the almost-kiss.

‘I mean...you did manage to take my mind off the pain, even if it wasn’t exactly a standard method from the Wasteland Survival Guide.’ He shrugged one shoulder. ‘Maybe we should write a new issue.’

Chiv laughed easily, and then they grinned at each other, everything suddenly okay between them again, the tension dissipating like morning mist. They held the gaze a little too long before MacCready broke it, looking down and slipping off his jacket to try the brace on his arm. He struggled with the straps one-handed for a moment before Chiv bent down to gently take his wrist.

‘Here, lemme…’

MacCready watched quietly as Chiv buckled the brace around his arm, carefully slipping a finger beneath the straps to check their tightness. His hands were surprisingly gentle despite their roughness and the calluses from the grip of his gun, his fingers encircling MacCready’s forearm completely.

‘You’ve got such tiny wrists,’ he murmured, more to himself than to MacCready. He straightened up to admire the brace, tilting his head with a little smile on his face. ‘Looks good on you.’

‘Thanks,’ muttered MacCready, feeling absurdly self-conscious. He flexed his arm a few times, testing out the feel of it. It was lightweight but sturdy; definitely couldn’t have been cheap. Despite having taken off his jacket, the warmth in his chest was keeping out the chill of the air on his bare skin. ‘Really, Chiv. Thanks.’

Chiv winked at him.

‘Don’t think this means you’re getting a present every time you get roughed up. I’m still not letting you take point,’ he teased. MacCready grinned back at him, stood, slung his pack over his shoulder as Chiv handed him his jacket. Only an hour or so left to Red Rocket and home; MacCready was dog-tired, but the glow in his chest from the gift and the reconciliation and the prospect of a good meal and a comfortable bed were more than enough to keep him going. They laughed and joked easily as they set off again, their normal teasing road-banter back in full force to make up for the lost hours that evening.

As they made their way down the road towards Concord, the strange caravan guard was all but forgotten.

 

***

 

‘MacCready? Can you come in here?’

It was past midnight, Red Rocket cold and drafty, the wintry night air whistling in through the broken windows. They’d only been home a half-hour or so, enough time to kick off their boots and discard their packs in a messy trail through the hallway and fall ravenously on their food supplies, the dogs begging for scraps as they filled their growling stomachs. MacCready was half-asleep on the couch, too tired to eat any more, absently stroking Junkyard’s ears whilst she snaffled the last mirelurk cake from the plate on the coffee table. The radio was blaring tinnily on the counter behind him, so late now it was just a constant loop of music, the nervous DJ having long since hung up his mic for the night ( _nothing on Three Dog,_ thought MacCready wryly). Chiv had retreated into his bedroom, rubbing at his sore knee, and MacCready had thought he was asleep; but at his voice he roused himself, gently pushing Junkyard aside as he dragged himself tiredly through the flag curtain and into Chiv’s room.

Chiv was sitting on his bed, knees drawn up to his chest, his blanket draped over his shoulders. He looked up as MacCready came in, and there was a faraway look in his eyes that had nothing to do with how tired they both were. He nodded to the bed and MacCready sat down heavily beside him, shoulders pressed together, pulling one side of the blanket around himself for warmth as a little pool of nervousness began to collect in his belly.

‘What’s up?’

Chiv said nothing for a few moments, just looked down at his hands, those annoyingly straight teeth worrying at his lower lip.

‘I want to show you something,’ he said, and then stopped with a drawn-out sigh. ‘I wanted to do it sooner but...I dunno. Haven’t found the chance, I guess. Didn’t know if I could trust you.’

MacCready knew that feeling all too well, the letter tucked in his pocket suddenly weighing heavier than ever before. Chiv moved, lifting something small and dark from his lap and passing it over to MacCready; the photo frame from his bedside table. MacCready’s breath came out slow as he looked down. Chiv didn’t know he’d seen it already, that he’d skulked in here those days he was away in the Glowing Sea, snooping through his things. He decided Chiv didn’t need to know.

‘That’s...you?’

Chiv nodded.

‘Me. Before the War, before everything went to shit. Well, more shit anyway. And that baby,’ he said, pointing to the child in the other man’s arms, ‘is Shaun. That’s the kid I’m trying to find. The one the Institute stole.’ His voice came out as a growl. MacCready shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around him, inadvertently tugging Chiv closer.

‘Who took the picture?’

Chiv’s face softened, then a pained expression furrowed his brows, his finger gently brushing over the curling golden cursive in the corner of the photo.

‘That’s what I wanted to tell you. Nora. Nora, my only goddamn friend in Massachusetts. The reason I’m here at all.’

The way his voice jumped slightly on the name caught MacCready’s attention. Chiv sighed deeply, taking the photo back from MacCready’s hands and setting it on the nightstand again, where his younger self beamed out at them both. ‘Do you know what a lawyer is?’

MacCready gave a little half-shrug. He vaguely remembered reading about them once, long ago.

‘Something to do with laws?’

Chiv nodded, his hands fiddling with the hem of the blanket, picking at a stray thread.

‘Yeah. I...people thought I did something bad, when I was younger. I was living in California still, got caught up in some real stupid shit. Bad decisions, y’know? So I ran. Ran the entire way across the country and ended up here. And I was safe, for a while. But it caught up with me. I got arrested. Was gonna go to jail for a long, long time.’ He pressed his mouth to his raised knee, mumbling into the fabric of his jeans as though trying to suppress the words. ‘The courts assigned me Nora as a lawyer to fight my case. She was older - in her thirties. Always looked really smart and put-together, y’know? Had this confident smile, like she knew better than everyone else.’

MacCready waited, a low tension building in his gut.

‘I don’t know what made her do it. I guess she felt sorry for me, little Chivalry with his tragic home life and his sob stories of living on the streets. But she was always the motherly type, even back then, before she had Shaun. I dunno what she saw in me; this scruffy, scrappy little asshole kid from California with a bad rep and a rap sheet a mile long. But she saw somethin’, I guess. Worked with me all through the case, ended up getting me off scot-free. And then she just...carried on looking after me. I’d go over to her house for dinner, watch ball games at hers on the weekend. She found me work, got me a place to stay. Bought me birthday and Christmas presents, first ones I ever got.’

Chiv’s breath came out in a long, shuddering sigh, and MacCready heard his voice start to catch.

‘When she got pregnant, she told me before she told her husband.’ His shoulders rose and fell in a shaky laugh. ‘She was so damn excited, like she was the first person on earth to have a kid.’

MacCready could understand that. His throat was squeezing tightly, his mind flashing unbidden to Lucy’s glowing face as she told him the news, her beautiful brown eyes full of laughter and light. He’d been unable to do anything except cry, half with happiness and half with the terror that he’d never be able to give his family the life they deserved. Thought of those first few hours after Duncan’s birth, whilst Lucy slept in the hospital wing of Project Purity and he sat alone with his newborn son, marvelling at how tiny and perfect he was. He shoved the thoughts aside as roughly as he could.

‘She said I’d be...I’d be like a big brother to their baby. That I could help…’ He broke off, voice choking, rubbing a hand angrily across his face. ‘I’d never had anyone be so nice to me before without wanting something in return. She was a sister, a mother, a friend all rolled into one. And I…’

MacCready held his breath.

‘I repaid her by fucking her husband behind her back for two years.’

MacCready felt that like a punch to the gut. His mouth crooked open before he could stop it, his breath whistling out like he’d been winded. Chiv was staring determinedly at the blanket, fingers working a ragged hole into the soft material. For once in his life, MacCready couldn’t think of a single word to say. Chiv laughed sadly, and MacCready caught the shimmer of tears in his dark eyes.

‘It gets worse. The day the bombs fell, she wasn’t at the house. She’d gone down to Boston with a college girlfriend for the day. I went round as soon as she left, to see Nate, as usual. We were...we were in bed when the sirens started.’

He gritted his teeth together.

‘We grabbed Shaun, ran to the Vault. Everything was such a blur, I didn’t have a place, we never thought anything would come of it...but Nate lied to them, got me inside. I took Nora’s place in the Vault. The only woman in the world who’d ever truly loved me like a mother, like a friend, and I stole her place. I know she couldn’t have got back in time, I know nothing would have changed if I hadn’t gotten in, but…’ He looked up at MacCready and his face was tortured, thick tears spilling down his cheeks. He looked heartbreakingly young, vulnerable in a way MacCready had never seen him before. ‘I feel like I killed her. I fucked her husband and then I left her out there to die in the blast. I just...wanted you to know what a piece of shit I am, MacCready. Before you get in too far with me. I’m not saving Shaun because I’m some heroic avenging parent. I’m saving him because every day I wake up and feel so fucking guilty that I’m alive and Nora’s not. It should be her out here, crusading for her kid, not me. It should be her who lived, and not...not someone like me.’

MacCready’s fingers, usually so steady on the trigger, trembled slightly as he reached out a hand to gently, very gently, brush a wayward strand of Chiv’s dark hair back and tuck it behind his ear, before wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him in as close as he could. Chiv buried his face in his shoulder, and MacCready could feel his hot tears against his skin as his body shook with heavy sobs. He wondered how long Chiv had been holding this in, if he’d told anyone else the truth; his mind went to the conversation with Piper in Diamond City, how she’d mentioned a guy looking for his son, and he thought not. And who else would he have to talk to? He’d been bearing everything alone...just like MacCready. He rubbed one hand up and down Chiv’s spine, soothingly, like he’d pet a wounded animal, murmuring nonsense against his mess of dark hair. He closed his eyes, breathing in the faint smell of gunpowder mixed with a scent that was uniquely Chiv. He could feel his heartbeat against his chest, the gentle huff of his breath across his skin. MacCready had never been good at this, at the emotional stuff, at comforting people who needed it. Growing up in Little Lamplight, he’d only ever known tough love, and he struggled to give back anything else. But here, with the letter from the Capital Wasteland tucked in his shirt pocket and pressed between his body and Chiv’s, he knew something he could say.

‘I’ve got a son,’ he murmured, voice low and as calming as he could make it. ‘His name’s Duncan. He’s sick. Really sick. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but I know where there’s a cure. At least, I hope I do. That’s why I’m here. His mom, my wife, was killed…’ Here he had to pause, swallowing hard. ‘...And it was my fault. I didn’t do enough to protect them. I left him in D.C, walked to the Commonwealth alone on a wild hope that I might be able to save him.’ Chiv’s sobs had subsided, his body quieting as he listened. MacCready pressed his lips to the top of his head, Chiv’s soft hair tickling his nose, feeling a burning lump rising in his own throat. ‘We’re two sides of the same coin. I know that helpless feeling, that guilt...I live with it too, every single day. It should have been her, not me. But that’s not how it worked out. And we gotta step up, right? We gotta fill the role that’s been left for us.’ He pulled back, looked into Chiv’s red-rimmed eyes as the first tear slipped down his own cheek. ‘I spent months here wasting my time, murdering people for money and drinking my days away and getting no closer to the cure. You’ve achieved so much already, Chiv...we _killed a goddamn Courser today,_ did you forget that? We can do this. We can save them. We can make it up to the people we let down. Promise.’

The funniest thing was, MacCready almost believed it himself. The thought of admitting out loud to Chiv all his failures had been making him feel sick for days, but now...he could almost believe in his own words, believe that they really could avenge those they’d wronged. MacCready raised a hand to swipe away the tears sliding down Chiv’s cheek, ignoring those on his own face, his stubble rough beneath his thumb. Chiv turned his head into his palm, smiling sadly, hiccuping slightly. There were tears still clinging to his dark lashes, making his eyes glitter in the harsh electric light.

‘We’re a pretty fucked up pair, right?’

MacCready laughed weakly, his hand dropping from Chiv’s face as the other man leaned away, sniffing hard as he wiped the last of the tears from his eyes. MacCready did the same, his cheeks wet with salt. Chiv shifted up the bed, leaned back against the headboard, beckoned MacCready closer. With his heart squeezing beneath his ribs, MacCready crawled up the bed towards him, settling down to lie beside him and lean his head on his chest. Chiv’s arm encircled his waist and he pressed his lips to the top of his head, mirroring the way MacCready had done the same to him a few moments before. His voice was a rumble between them.

‘I’m sorry, RJ. I’m sorry you got caught up in all this shit. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.’

MacCready huffed against his chest, shifting minutely closer as he got comfortable, his eyes drifting shut, sore from crying.

‘Hey, shut up,’ he mumbled. ‘Don’t apologise. I’m your friend, I’ve been hurt worse for less noble causes.’

‘Friends? That’s what we are?’

MacCready didn’t have an answer for that. Chiv’s arm was warm around him, holding him firmly against his side, his chest rising and falling beneath his head with every deep breath. He slowly let his hand trail down Chiv’s ribcage, across the bruises that he knew were hidden beneath his t-shirt, before he curled it around his waist, returning the half-embrace. Chiv moved and MacCready grumbled sleepily as he was dislodged, but he just reached down to grab the blanket and pull it up over them both, tucking MacCready’s hand back around his waist as he did so. MacCready let out a tired sigh.

‘Thanks, RJ,’ Chiv whispered against his head, and MacCready just nodded in reply. ‘We’re gonna save your boy. And Shaun. We can do it. Together, we can do it.’

MacCready was already half-asleep, and he mumbled something vague in reply; but come the morning, he couldn’t remember what he’d said. All he remembered was Chiv’s body warm and strong and safe, his heartbeat steady beneath his head, his breathing slow and deep as they drifted into an exhausted sleep.

MacCready dreamt of Duncan, and of Chiv, and of dark-haired women in shallow graves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad Boys Club 2k287.
> 
> Catch me going wildly off-canon to ignore Bethesda’s basic-ass pre-War backstory LOL.
> 
> Find me at [whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com!](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com/)


	7. Prevent

Warm.

MacCready was warm, and comfortable, two things that were extremely unusual for him to be waking up to. His eyebrows pulled together in a frown, his lips pursing slightly in a little mieu of confusion as he tried to make sense of it. The warmth was radiating out from something pressed up against his back, something solid and comforting. There was something resting across his hip, something else pushed heavy between his thighs…he let out a little sleep-slurred sigh of pleasure, absently pushing himself down on the thick weight between his legs as he moved, stretched, rolling his body back into the warmth as he arched his back like a cat. Behind him there was a soft sleepy groan, and the arm on his waist - because it was an arm, he realised, and the thing between his legs was a thigh - pulled him closer, curling tighter, a hand tucking beneath him to hold him firmly in place.

 _Oh, hell_. It was Chiv.

Awareness came back to him slowly, forcing his eyes open despite the thick cling of sleep, his whole body tensing. Chiv was curled against him, half over him, his deep breathing hot on the back of MacCready’s neck, making the fine hairs there stand on end. MacCready swallowed hard. Memories of the night before were flowing back into his head; first a trickle, then a flood, the full emotional brunt of what had happened hitting him full force as the dam burst. Chiv’s confession, the revelation of who he was and what he’d done, MacCready’s own reveal of his biggest, most protected secret...he closed his eyes again, a long trembling sigh pushing all the air out from his lungs. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d done it. Admitting weakness out here was the quickest way to a bullet in your back.

But this was Chiv. Employer turned friend turned...something, he thought, listening to the other man breathe softly. MacCready wasn’t quite at the stage where he could press a gun to his forehead and trust him not to pull the trigger; and even in a thousand years, he didn’t think he’d ever drop his guard enough to let someone in that close. But there was no denying that even way back since that moment on the freeway, Winlock and Barnes’ blood drying on the floor and Chiv’s fingers brushing over the gunshot graze on his face, MacCready had been falling. What had he said last night? The image of Chiv’s tear-stained face swam back into view, those dark grey eyes tortured and full of pain, mirroring the turmoil in MacCready’s own head. _We’re two sides of the same coin_. That was it. And it was true, almost painfully so. Both left alone, stranded in a world they only half knew, struggling to stay above water and protect the last scraps of family that remained to them. He buried his face in the pillow, breathed in the faint scent of sweat and Chiv. As scary as it was, as much as it made his stomach flutter nervously and the pace of his heart pick up, it was also kinda nice to feel like that again. He’d assumed, after Lucy, that it would just be him and Duncan from thereon out. And after Duncan got sick, the thought had crossed his mind more often than not that it would, sooner rather than later, just be him. But maybe…just maybe...

He tamped down the spark of hope immediately. There was a long road ahead before they’d ever reach that place. It was selfish of him, sickeningly so, to be cuddled up in bed pining like a lovesick teenager whilst his son lay dying 400 miles away. To be pressing himself back into Chiv’s warm body, lips parting slightly and eyes drifting to half-mast as the other man murmured something low in his sleep and the sound vibrated through them both. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to be feeling good whilst the last remaining important person in his life was so desperately relying on him to take action. Definitely didn’t deserve the way their bodies tangling together was sending a slow coil of heat working through the pit of his belly, up the length of his spine. Chiv moved in his sleep, huffed out a breathy sigh against MacCready’s neck, curled in tighter, pressed his thigh hard up between MacCready’s legs; and it was too much. Body trembling slightly with barely suppressed restlessness, MacCready heaved himself up onto his elbows, disentangling himself a little more roughly than he’d meant to before climbing unceremoniously over Chiv’s grumbling form to stagger through the flag curtain and down the hall to the ramshackle bathroom.

Cold was what he needed now, not warmth.

Cold water, and the cold light of day.

 

***

 

‘Are you even lifting it?! I’m doing all the damn work here!’

‘Fu- shut up! I am!’ MacCready gritted his teeth, pushing his feet into the rough wood of the scaffolding platform, praying his crappy shoes had enough grip left on the soles to keep him upright. ‘You’re not pulling hard enough! Where’s all your goddamn pre-War muscles gone?!’

Chiv made some typical snarky sarcastic reply that was lost in the grinding of metal on metal as MacCready forced his legs to straighten, shoving his back against the heavy turret as they pushed it up the ominously creaking scaffolding stairs at the back of the garage. The barrel was resting on his shoulder, the ammunition chambers digging painfully into the muscles of his back, his body straining with the effort; but then there was a release, the turret scraping over the edge of the roof with a horrible squeal as Chiv finally lifted it far enough, and MacCready fell back onto the scaffolding with a thump. He let his head drop back, panting, feeling the sweat drip down the side of his face from the effort.

‘We ain’t done yet, cowboy,’ laughed Chiv, leaning over the edge of the roof to look down at him. MacCready cracked open one eye, glaring up at him.

‘Jeez, gimme a minute,’ he grumbled, his legs a little trembly as he got back to his feet. He noted with a little satisfaction that Chiv was breathing hard too, though; _your tough guy act is slipping, pal,_ he smirked to himself. MacCready hauled himself over the edge of the roof, and the two men each seized one side of the turret and with a count of three clenched their jaws and lifted the heavy defense weapon between them, dragging it down the roof to the end in a series of jerks, setting it down every few metres to wring red hands and stretch out tight muscles. Finally they reached the end, hauling it up to the very tip of the roof’s long overhang where it could sweep the thick woods of the hills opposite the truck stop. They eased it into place on the little plinth Chiv had made for it, MacCready collapsing bonelessly into one of the patio chairs they’d dragged up.

‘Next time we’re just bringing the scrap up and you can build the damn thing in place,’ he groaned, stretching out his aching legs. Chiv grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his face to wipe the sweat from his brow. MacCready’s gaze swept lazily across his exposed torso. The bruises from the deathclaw had faded nicely, almost completely gone now, as had the ones on MacCready’s own neck; both helped along by a stimpak and a generous application of some weird herbal goop Chiv had traded for with a passing caravan a couple days before. After the exhausting, painful hike home from Greenetech, neither man wanted to rush into the next fight without making sure they were fully healed again, bruises fading and muscles relaxing and bodies regaining their strength. They’d spent the time shoring up Red Rocket, stocking up on food and water, making small excursions in the local area to find scrap and junk for Chiv’s endless projects. He’d worked his usual magic in the workshop to produce this extra turret for the roof; neither man had voiced it out loud, but since the fight with the Courser, they’d both been lying awake at night in their respective beds expecting an Institute attack at any moment.

There’d been no repeat of the night they’d returned home, no more emotional outbursts or falling asleep in each other’s beds, pressed up close together desperate for any scrap of affection they could get. Chiv hadn’t said anything when he’d woken up and found MacCready gone, already up and washed and eaten and in the workshop cleaning his rifle. They’d barely acknowledged the conversation, skirting carefully around the topics of family and past. But they both seemed to have relaxed somewhat, the knowledge that their secrets were out and their trust was in each other’s hands almost comforting, in a weird way. And there had been little lingering touches, MacCready’s hand brushing too long against Chiv’s as he passed him a tool, Chiv leaning in unnecessarily close to murmur a joke or a comment in his ear, the evenings spent sprawled on the couch with their legs tangled together as they discussed comics or fought over whose turn it was to play ‘Atomic Command’ on Chiv’s Pip-Boy...

‘You fallin’ asleep on me?’

MacCready blinked, surprised, looked up. Remembered where he was. Chiv was grinning at him, leaning over the turret, watching him expectantly.

‘I said, you ready to see if this thing works?’

MacCready nodded, heaving himself up straighter in the chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

‘Let’s give it a shot. But I’m not dragging it back down again if it doesn’t work.’

‘If you broke it almost dropping it down the damn scaffolding, you are,’ retorted Chiv, but his grin was good-natured as he leaned forward and flipped the switch. The turret purred to life immediately, movement smooth and steady as the barrel glided back and forth through the air, sweeping the perimeter of the garage. Both men gave a little tired cheer, Chiv turning to high-five MacCready, satisfaction painted on his oil-smeared face as he started to pull his cigarettes from his pocket.

‘Awesome! Job done. We’ve definitely earned ourselves a -’

They both froze as the turret shrieked a warning, the barrel swinging round to point directly into the woods opposite the truck stop, red lights flaring up along its body. MacCready’s chair went flying as he swung into action, leaping up to grab Chiv and drag them both down flat on the roof.

‘Where are the guns?!’ he hissed into Chiv’s face, grey eyes wide with surprise just inches from his own. Chiv pointed a finger below them. The turret was whirring and clicking, adjusting over and over as it tried to lock onto a target. His words came out in a quiet wheeze, winded from MacCready’s sudden tackle.

‘Maybe it’s malfunctioning?’

‘Can’t take that chance,’ growled MacCready, and pushed himself up into a low crouch, darting off down the roof to the scaffolding. He shimmied down it as fast as he could, heard the thump of Chiv’s feet above him as he raced through the open door of the workshop, grabbing his rifle from where it lay next to the weapons bench. Fucking stupid to be so careless, even at home base; they were _expecting_ the goddamn Institute, needed to be armed at all times. The dogs materialised from within the garage, drawn by the beeping of the turret and the slap of MacCready’s running feet, taking a place at his heels as he crossed the garage forecourt in an instant and ducked down behind one of the ancient rusted out cars. Leaning his rifle on the edge of the open bonnet, he scanned the woods through the scope, heart racing with adrenaline. This was it, the Institute was coming, _should have grabbed some grenades, no time to think properly, check your clip, safety off, let’s go go g-_

Above him, the turret sounded the all-clear, and then fell silent.

Beside him, Dogmeat gave a low whine.

He swept the woods with his scope one last time, seeing nothing, before slowly moving out from his cover. Chiv was jogging towards him from the garage, shotgun in hands, brows furrowed darkly.

‘See anything?’

MacCready shook his head no, standing up, Dogmeat winding in and out of his legs. His rifle was held ready across his chest, his heart still beating hard. Chiv’s mouth twisted in a noncommittal expression, shrugging as if to say _guess-it-was-nothing,_ but MacCready wasn’t satisfied quite so easily. He’d lived in this world way longer. He knew you couldn’t leave anything to chance.

‘Let’s go check it out. Just to be sure.’

They climbed the hill opposite the garage, scoured through the woods for any signs of disturbance; but it was Dogmeat who found it. MacCready heard him bark, looked up to see him indicating, dancing on his front paws, tail outstretched and held high in excitement, little whines and whimpers escaping his throat. MacCready’s stomach clenched with ice when he saw what the dog had found. A little encampment hidden amongst the rocks, marked by the stump of a fallen tree; a chair, a toolbox of supplies hidden in a tyre, a hastily spilled can of purified water and an ashtray with a half-smoked cigarette stubbed out in it. MacCready touched his fingers to the cigarette. Still warm. Someone had been here, just moments ago.

Someone watching Red Rocket.

Someone watching them.

Chiv crouched down beside Dogmeat, stroking his ears and ruffling the thick fur on his neck, crooning praise. MacCready just shivered. How long had this little set-up been here? Whose was it? Had a synth been sitting here moments before, watching them through the lens of a long-range laser rifle, lining up its shots on MacCready’s chest, Chiv’s forehead? No...a synth wouldn’t need water and cigarettes, surely. Although Nick Valentine, Diamond City’s great clockwork dick, smoked like a freaking chimney. MacCready couldn’t make sense of it. But who else would possibly have reason to watch them? Brotherhood of Steel would never be this subtle, they’d have marched right up to the garage and demanded them to turn out their pockets.

‘What’s that on the stump?’

Chiv was crouching down, examining something marked carefully on the lee side of the old tree stump. White chalk, a starburst of lines with a little plus sign in the middle. It looked oddly familiar. MacCready frowned at it.

‘Looks like some kinda code? Scavengers used to use these in the D.C ruins, mark out danger.’ _And the one time you didn’t look closely enough for them…_ ‘I don’t know what this means though. Not one I’ve seen before.’ He raised his head, looking out in the direction the chair was facing; the direction of their home. ‘I do know it means we’re being watched, though.’

They stood in tense silence for a while, Dogmeat leaning against Chiv’s legs as he scratched absently at his ears, his face concerned.

‘Well, they ain’t here now. Reckon we gave them enough of a scare that they won’t be back any time soon, either. We’ve still got to head out tomorrow. The dogs will have to hold down the fort whilst we’re gone. We’ve wasted too much time already.’

MacCready nodded, chewing his lip absently. If the Institute hadn’t hit them by now...but the longer they held onto that chip, the more dangerous their situation became. This was proof enough that someone out there was watching them. But there’d been multiple opportunities for someone to get a clear shot at them today, if that was their aim.

‘Alright. We can head for the city first light. We following the Freedom Trail?’

Chiv looked at him incredulously, eyebrows shooting up.

‘What? The city? Are you kidding? We’re going to Med-Tek. We’re gonna get the cure for your kid. Spies or no, that’s something we can’t hang about on. Bring the passcodes. We’ll set off at dawn.’

And with that, he walked back down the hill to Red Rocket, leaving MacCready standing alone in the woods with a shocked expression on his face and a trembling, nervous anticipation in his stomach.

 

***

 

The first Ferals attacked before they’d even got through the front doors.

MacCready could already feel his heart rate picking up, his hands clammy on his rifle as he fired, lips pressed together in a thin line to suppress any noise that might break free. The day was colder, the Ferals’ snarls and screams a thick fog that rushed out into the air from their gaping maws. There weren’t many, just a handful of stragglers that crawled out from beneath the wrecks of the cars in front of the building, but it was enough to make cold sweat prickle at the top of MacCready’s spine, knowing what awaited them inside. Chiv hadn’t noticed; he’d rushed ahead as usual, charging into the fray head-on, his shotgun roaring. By the time the Ferals were no more than ragged piles of stinking flesh and Chiv turned his blood-splattered face back to grin widely at him, MacCready had managed to wipe the fear from his eyes. Only the minute tremble in his hands and the sick churning in his gut gave him away.

It didn’t look like anyone else had been here since his last attempt all those months ago. There was the water bottle he’d dropped as he fled, still tucked against the wall where it had rolled, dried and empty now. The corridors and offices were still filled with junk and scrap, some of which Chiv tucked into their packs to haul back to the garage. But there was the odd bit of ammo still stashed in a drawer, and even more surprisingly, Med-X and Radaway and even a few stimpaks still lay preserved in first aid kits and lab rooms. MacCready felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, unease creeping up his spine. Usually, places left untouched like this meant they’d had a bad reputation before the War, leading into a superstition amongst the survivors. For a medical facility to still have supplies lying around for the taking...

Something wasn’t right.

Still, despite his nervousness, he couldn’t suppress the burst of joy when they found the executive terminal; not just found it, but _got in,_ Sinclair’s security codes working perfectly. There’d always been the doubt in the back of his mind that it was a hoax, Sinclair had been lying; for what personal gain, MacCready didn’t know, but there was always the possibility that someone was trying to set you up. Chiv’s face glowed radiation-green in the light from the terminal as he flashed MacCready a triumphant grin, pressing a single button with a flourish. A loud alarm sounded once through the building, the distant hiss-and-click of maglocks releasing, and then silence. MacCready’s heart was in his throat.

‘Alright. You ready to do this?’

They cut back down to base level through the gaps in the floor, carefully lowering each other down, holding onto each other’s wrists. If MacCready’s palms were slightly clammy, his grip slick with cold fear-sweat, Chiv said nothing. The airlock took a minute to cycle, the two men standing in silence; Chiv impatient but stoic, MacCready hopping from one foot to the other and twitching at every sound. All his senses were on high-alert as they made their way into the labs, picking through the trashed rooms. Glass crunched underfoot, and there was a distinctly metallic taste to the air; Chiv briefly wondered aloud if they were breathing in chemicals, and then shut up straight after as they both exchanged nervous looks. MacCready wished he’d thought to bring his old Gunners bandana; as much as he never, _ever_ wanted to be associated with that scum again, it could have at least afforded some protection to his nose and mouth, his lungs and airways and probably already-mutating insides.

The Ferals were getting more ferocious, each wave heavier and tougher than the last as they wound deeper into the bowels of the building. MacCready’s aim was getting worse, the rifle jittering in his hands, starting to take his targets off-centre or even, on a few occasions, miss entirely. Chiv was throwing him little concerned glances every so often, wordlessly adjusting his pace so they remained closer together as MacCready forced himself to keep moving through the deserted, ruined corridors and rooms. He was torn, completely torn in two; struggling to go forward and yet unable to hold back. Duncan’s cure lay ahead, so close he could almost touch it, brushing at the very tips of his fingers...and yet it was still so far away, blocked off by layers of Ferals and danger and every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run, to get out. The labs seemed to be getting smaller and smaller, the walls tighter in every room and corridor, more and more junk and trash littering the floor and making any possible escape route a minefield to navigate. His breath was coming quicker, his lungs never feeling like he’d quite got enough air, and he wasn’t sure if it was the stale atmosphere or his own body that was the cause. He was distracted, off-balance; the one day he desperately, _desperately_ had to be on top form and he was fucking it all up with his stupid panicky -

He felt his foot slide suddenly out from under him, slipping on a broken chemistry jar, and he went down hard, his chin smashing against the edge of the desk. Blood spurted from his mouth as his teeth sank into the tip of his tongue, and he yelled in pain, rifle clattering away across the floor. Chiv was over him in an instant, seizing his upper arm and hauling him back to his feet.

‘Fucking hell, RJ. Are you alright?’

His voice echoed horribly loud in the tiny lab and MacCready tore his arm away, face hot with anger and embarrassment.

‘I’m _fine,’_ he snarled, tearing his arm from Chiv’s grasp, blood dripping down his chin. Chiv’s face was wary, his eyes shaded with concern. ‘Keep moving.’

He let Chiv pull ahead for a while, ignoring the little glances over his shoulder the other man kept throwing him, the furrow of his eyebrows whenever MacCready clamped his mouth shut to avoid crying out as a Feral appeared from nowhere, crawling out from under tables and through windows and rushing out from doorways as they crept past. He forced himself to concentrate, to stand his ground when they got past Chiv’s first line of defense and rushed him, to line up his shots and breathe and squeeze the trigger and drop them and move onto the next target with as much of his usual clinical precision as he could muster. But it was taking an extreme strain on his body, every muscle stretched taught to breaking point. There was no conversation, no easy banter. He couldn’t spare enough energy to talk.

They came to an elevator, rode it down into darkness, MacCready closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. The vibrations rattled through his skull, his spine, his gun. But the brief respite was over all too soon, and they emerged blinking into the harsh flicker of electric light again. Down here seemed emptier, no tell-tale shuffling footsteps or mangled growls, but MaCready’s knuckles were still white on his rifle as they crept down the corridor and emerged into a huge open room. Two levels, rows upon rows of cells, thick glass and mag-locked doors on each one. Keeping something in.

MacCready had a sinking suspicion he knew what.

He stayed firmly in the centre of the room, by the staircase. Chiv was right up at the front of the cells, peering into each one in turn, flinching back at first when the occupants threw themselves at him and bounced off the glass. All the ways out of the room were blocked, by rubble or debris, but there had to be more; the cure was here, somewhere, and despite his terror MacCready was not going to just give up that easily. Not after he’d gotten this far inside. But then Chiv turned to him, standing just inches from the glass front of a cell where a particularly disgusting Feral slobbered and drooled and snarled, and gave an apologetic shrug.

‘We’re gonna have to let them out.’

MacCready swallowed a mouthful of bile.

‘Fu- screw that. They can stay in there and rot. Can we keep moving?’

The Feral slapped at the glass, throwing its rotting body against the window in an attempt to reach the subjects of its fury. Chiv pointed at it.

‘I’m serious. Look. In this cell, here.’

MacCready took a single step closer, and stopped. The Feral was inches from Chiv, broken and ruined teeth grinding against the glass as it tried to bite at his outstretched arm.

‘What.’

‘There’s a hole in the floor. Looks like it’s the only way down. We’ve got to get in there, but I’m not gonna be able to unlock just one. It’s our only option, if we wanna get that cure. We gotta let them all out.’

The Feral threw itself bodily against the glass and the strings of flesh holding its arm on gave way, dropping the limb to the floor with a wet squelch. It roared in fury, wet maw opening wide and spraying the glass with thick yellow-green drool. Chiv reeled back, laughing in disgust.

MacCready snapped.

He turned sharply on his heel, marched away, ears ringing, heart thrumming so loud and fast he thought it might give out. Chiv’s voice was calling after him, but he couldn’t understand it, couldn’t process the words through the haze of anxiety making his whole body quake. He kept walking, back up the stairs, until he reached the terminal room, where he folded himself into the corner with his rifle across his knees and closed his eyes, drawing in deep, long breaths. He felt sick, his stomach twisting, his brow sweating, a tension headache boring into the back of his skull. He felt like a goddamn coward, whimpering about some _scary monsters_ like a Little Lamplighter hearing the stories of Murder Pass for the first time. He was _Robert Joseph MacCready,_ he was 22 years old and he’d fought creatures and people thousands of times worse than this. But every time he heard those growls, heard the wet slap of rotting flesh as they ran, smelled the thickly sweet stench of decay in the back of his throat...combine that with the darkness of the cells, the flickering of the emergency lighting, the stale air unused for centuries, and it was too reminiscent of the metro station. Even the echo of Chiv’s footsteps as he approached was horribly similar, the tiled walls almost morphing in his mind’s eye into the cold concrete and steel of the D.C subway. His breath was whistling in his throat like the wind through the service tunnels as he’d fled with Duncan screaming in his arms.

Chiv’s feet stopped in front of him, and the other man crouched down.

‘Alright, man, you need to tell me what’s going on here. I know you said before you’ve got an issue with Ferals but this is getting dangerous. You’re gonna get hurt. I can’t take them all alone, you know how shit I am at this. I need you.’ His big grey eyes were dark with concern, a finger lifting MacCready’s chin as he peered up into his face beneath the tilt of his cap. ‘RJ? It’s me, c’mon. You can talk to me. Are you okay?’

‘Ferals killed my wife Lucy, and I saw the whole thing.’

Chiv’s whole body tensed, and MacCready closed his eyes again, as though if he kept them open her ruined, broken body would materialise in front of him. But closing his eyes was worse; all he could see was her hand, lying in a pool of blood, torn raggedly at the wrist with that stupid, stupid bracelet Knock-Knock had made her soaking up the gore. His shoulders shook as he fought with himself. There was a very long, very quiet pause.

When Chiv finally spoke, his voice was low, as calm as he could make it. His hand slipped around to rest on MacCready’s shoulder, gently; just a small grounding gesture, keeping him in the present, keeping him out of his hellish memories. Chiv spoke softly, slowly; slightly unsure, not knowing what to do, but the constant murmur was easing MacCready’s shaking. After a few moments, he tuned in to the words, forcing himself to concentrate on something other than his fear.

‘...remember why we’re here. For your son. I ain’t never had kids but the way Nate and Nora doted on Shaun...I can see well enough what it’s like. Hey, tell me about Duncan. What’s he like? Does he look like you?’

MacCready just focused on his breathing, in and out, deep and slow, the same way he did when he was lining up a shot. The hand on his shoulder was moving, Chiv’s thumb rubbing circles into his skin. The horrific images in his head were fading, as he forced himself to think of Duncan, think of what he could say to describe his son, how he could explain to Chiv everything that he was, everything that he meant to him. Finally, he managed to mumble a reply, his voice quiet.

‘...he’s got her eyes.’

A little smile tugged at the corner of Chiv’s mouth and he nodded encouragingly, thumb still rubbing gently at his arm.

‘Yeah? I like your eyes, but I bet hers were really pretty too. What else?’

MacCready took an easier breath, less shaky.

‘He’s...he’s got hair like mine, all messy, won’t stay down. But it’s dark like hers.’

Chiv laughed quietly.

‘You’ll have to give him your cap when he's older, then. Pass it down. What else? Keep thinking, tell me more.’

MacCready’s voice was growing stronger, the fear and sickness running riot through his body slowly replacing with calm, memories of his son playing in the fields behind the Big Town farm filling his head and driving out the terror.

‘He likes cars, toy cars. I send him them sometimes, when I can find good ones.’ He smiled, and Chiv returned it twice as brightly. His hand slipped from his shoulder as he moved slowly over to the terminal on the desk.

‘He’ll love Red Rocket then. He can help me out tinkering with them. Sit in the driver’s seat. Keep going, RJ. You got this.’

MacCready lifted his head, straightened his back, watched as Chiv worked on the terminal. His head was filled with memories, good ones; Duncan cuddled up in his lap on a visit to Big Town, Duncan squealing with delight as he tossed him up in the air, Duncan tiny and perfect and gripping onto his finger as he stared down in wonder at his brand new son and promised over and over that he’d do everything he could to keep him safe. And there was _no_ _way_ he was breaking that promise for a bunch of stupid, disgusting, shambling rotting zombies. They’d had one family member from him. They weren’t getting any more. He moved gracefully to his feet, one fluid motion, bringing up his rifle in a ready stance. He raised his chin, jutted out his jaw.

‘Duncan’s tough. He’s strong, and he’s a fighter, because he’s _my son_. He’s mine, and I love him, and I’m going to go down there and get that fucking cure if it’s the last thing I do.’

Chiv was waiting, ready. MacCready met his eyes, saw his own determination mirrored there, nodded once. Chiv pressed the button on the keyboard to release the cell doors, and this time MacCready didn’t move a single muscle when the bloodthirsty roars of the Ferals filled the room. Instead, he answered it with his own furious yell, tearing deep and primal from his chest, Chiv scrambling to keep up as he stormed out onto the catwalk, raising his rifle with a deep steady breath before firing down indiscriminately into the pack of monsters as they burst free from their centuries-old prisons. He held his ground without a single moment of hesitation or fear as they raced for him, focusing all their pent-up rage on the figure standing high and proud above them. MacCready didn’t care. His body was shaking again, but this time it was adrenaline; adrenaline and pure, raw fury. There was just the thrum of blood in his ears, the anger in his heart, and the gun in his hands.

‘Fuck you!’ he screamed, voice echoing around the stark lab walls, amplified into something much bigger than him, all wrath and bite and deadly cold. ‘Fuck you, fuck you, _fuck you!_ This is for my family! You aren’t taking anyone else away from me! Not Duncan, not Chiv, not _anyone!’_

Bullets flew, blood spattered, rotting limbs and chunks sprayed the room in a swathe of gore as the two men stood side-by-side, back-to-back, and tore into the Ferals. Chiv was yelling too, caught up in the bloodlust, and MacCready felt a wild laugh tear from his throat as they downed Feral after Feral in a brutal slaughter. They piled up on the stairs, falling over each other in their desperation to reach their prey, but not a single one got through. When it was finally over, he lowered his rifle, his senses slowly returning as he blinked in the electric lighting. Beside him, Chiv let out a long, low whistle.

‘Holy...holy _shit,_ RJ,’ was all he could say, his eyes wide and sparkling with admiration. The bridge of his nose was flushed, his breathing hard. ‘I knew hiring you was a good idea. Fuck, that was badass as all hell.’

MacCready just grinned at him, feeling slightly self-conscious.

‘Told you I was a good shot.’

They moved off again, down to the last level of the building; down, he prayed, to the cure. The smell of the Ferals in his nose almost started the bile rising in the back of his throat again; but this time it wasn’t just the cold stale subway air, the thick sweetly metallic stench of blood, and the rotting Feral flesh. This time there was gunpowder, and the sweat of a hard battle, and MacCready forced down the nausea with a vicious shove of pride. Not this time.

Not any time.

Not any more.

 

***

 

The Glowing One lay dead at their feet, a splattered trail of sickly green blood leading halfway across the lab floor from where it had thrashed and gurgled and refused to die, hounding the two men even with half its limbs torn from its body by Chiv’s shotgun blast. Only a bullet directly to the forehead from MacCready’s rifle, blowing out the back of its head in a violent and disgusting spray of irradiated green gore, had finally dropped it for good. One of the huge glass panel windows was blown out, the glass crunching underfoot. Chiv was nursing a nasty gash to his upper arm, grinning ruefully at MacCready, his face lit from below in horror-show fashion by the still glowing corpse of the ghoul.

‘Ain’t a successful day out in this goddamn Wasteland unless one of us is coming home bleeding. One day I’ll just take you for a quiet picnic somewhere, I promise.’

MacCready just laughed, too exhilarated to think of a witty reply. This was it, the final step; this had to be the place. The lab had been sealed off by turrets and thick sheet metal shutters over the windows and doors. If anywhere in this godforsaken building was going to be hiding an experimental cure, it was this room.

They split up, scouring the cupboards, the fridges, the counters. MacCready found a stash of Radway, which he tossed straight into his pack; they’d definitely need it, after all the Ferals they’d fought. Chiv found a skeleton in a fridge, which freaked him out, and he refused to look in the rest of them after that. But with every place they checked, MacCready’s heart was squeezing tighter and tighter. He’d been so focused on getting here, getting past the Ferals...he’d never really thought about what might happen if the cure wasn’t there. If it never existed in the first place. Sure, Sinclair had had the codes, and he’d been telling the truth about his buddy; but it was still just a rumour, a faint hope that he was following. What would he do? Could he go back home, to the Capital Wasteland, empty-handed? Wait out Duncan’s last days by his bedside, always wondering if he should have gone somewhere else instead, tried more places, there must be somewhere left in this crappy ruin of a country that had something that could help -

‘Is this it?’

He turned, heart in his mouth, and there it was. A tiny vial attached to a syringe, held carefully in Chiv’s hand, his face a frown of concentration as he read the writing on the side of the casing. MacCready tried to keep his hopes down. He needed to be absolutely sure.

‘What does it say on the side?’

‘...Prevent.’

His knees felt weak.

‘That’s it,’ he whispered. And then he was running, diving across the room, throwing himself at Chiv. He grabbed the sides of his face in both hands, crashed their mouths together inelegantly but with as much feeling as he could muster, pushing all his emotions into the kiss. Chiv made a little surprised noise against his mouth, his arms trapped between them, still clutching the cure carefully. MacCready pulled back, half laughing and half sobbing, his vision a blur of hot tears; but even through the haze he could see the huge, delighted grin on Chiv’s face.

‘I can’t believe it! I can’t believe we did it! I can’t believe _I_ did it!’ He hiccuped, let go of Chiv’s face to swipe the tears from his cheeks, not caring a single bit about looking weak in front of him; just overwhelmed with happiness and emotion. ‘I don’t...Chiv, you...nothing, _nothing_ can repay what you’ve done for me, I…’ He threw his arms around his shoulders, dragging him in again and squeezing him as hard as he could. ‘I’ll follow you until the day I die, I swear it. How can I ever repay you?’

‘That kiss was a good start,’ Chiv laughed against his neck, freeing his arms to wrap firmly around his waist and return the hug. MacCready could feel the cure in his hand, against his back, and it sent a fresh wave of joy through him. 'Fuck, it's good to see you happy like this.'

‘Of course I'm happy. Duncan’s gonna live. He’s gonna be okay.’ MacCready hiccuped, still not sure if he was laughing or crying. ‘Maybe I’m not such a terrible father after all.’

Chiv pulled back from the embrace to look him dead in the eye, confusion clear beneath the blood and grime. He handed the cure carefully to MacCready, who was untying his scarf to wrap protectively around the tiny, precious vial.

‘A terrible father? Are you serious? RJ, you walked 400 miles across irradiated, fucked up Wasteland. You left everyone and everything you’d ever known behind. All for your son. All for Duncan. That’s the most selfless thing I’ve ever heard of.’

MacCready paused, glanced at him.

‘But I left him behind.’

Chiv rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated laugh.

‘Jeez, only because you had to. You can’t ask a sick kid to travel all that way.’ He took both his hands in a firm grip, the cure held between them. ‘RJ. You’re the strongest person I’ve met out here, you know that? I need you to understand that. What you did today...what you’ve done, what you’ve overcome, all for your son...that’s dedication. That’s love.’

They stood for a moment, the cure wrapped in MacCready’s scarf held between them. Then Chiv leaned in, and gently pressed their lips together again. It was chaste, quick, his lips dry but soft, nothing like the wild spur-of-the-moment kiss MacCready had crashed down on him a few moments before. But there was enough feeling behind it to make MacCready’s heart race in his chest, his limbs feeling weightless, his whole body soaring. Chiv leaned back again, smiled, swiped a stray tear from MacCready’s cheek with the rough pad of his thumb.

‘So that’s it, then? We just send this back to your kid? That’s all we need to do?’

MacCready nodded, taking a few deep breaths to get himself back under control.

‘Yeah. We just gotta get it to Daisy in Goodneighbor. She can send it back to him on the caravans. Don’t worry,’ he added, seeing the growing concern in Chiv’s eyes, the question on his lips. ‘I trust her. It _will_ get there.’

MacCready pulled his hands back to put the cure carefully in his pack, cushioning it with the scarf. He could feel Chiv’s eyes tracing the last of the fading bruises on his exposed neck. As soon as his pack was securely back over his shoulder, Chiv took his hand again, this time lacing their fingers together with a small smile.

‘Alright. Then let’s go. We gotta go to Goodneighbor anyway to see Hancock. We can make it there tonight if we march hard.’

As they made their way back out of the building, MacCready didn’t think anything could ruin his good mood. Chiv’s hand was in his, the Ferals were gone, he’d never have to set foot in there again...and, most importantly of all... _he’d got the cure._ All those months of waiting, of hoping, of beating himself up at night for not having done more...it was all over. Duncan was going to be fine. And, he thought to himself as Chiv turned to give him a little smile as they finally emerged into the fresh evening air…

_I'm going to be fine, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: ‘Not my family, you bitch.’
> 
> Goddamn, MacCready, I’m proud of you. Seriously @ todd howard just let me tell this man how strong he is for everything he’s overcome. There’s no way he doesn’t have PTSD from Lucy’s death, and yet he fights through Med-Tek anyway, all for his kid? That’s strength.
> 
> Can you tell I’m way, way too into this game?! Hope I captured some of the emotions this particular quest brought up in me when I played it.
> 
> Find me at [whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com/).


	8. Freedom

As soon as Chiv unlocked the door to the room, MacCready tried to push past him, ducking under his arm and making a run for the bed. Chiv’s hand snapped out quick as a bullet and seized his collar, dragging him back, snarling in his ear.

‘You sneaky little shit, no you don’t!’

MacCready thrashed in his grasp, slipping nimbly out of his jacket; but Chiv fought dirty, hooked a foot around his ankle and he stumbled, his hip cracking against the dresser as he scrabbled to stay upright. Chiv threw the packs after him, laughing as he caught them with an _oof_ and staggered back into the couch.

‘For fu- it’s _my turn!_ ’ MacCready yelled as Chiv dived onto the bed, crowing triumphantly, the ancient wooden frame banging heavily against the wall under the sudden onslaught of his weight. Someone thumped on the wall behind the bed, muffled shouts to _shut the fuck up!_ coming from the room next door. That set MacCready off laughing too, both of them jeering back at their neighbor despite the lateness of the hour, still wound-up and energized from the day’s victory.

They’d reached Goodneighbor shortly after midnight, MacCready practically dancing the entire way down from Med-Tek, dragging Chiv along by the hand and taking on whatever the Commonwealth had to throw at them with optimistic glee. They’d arrived with aching legs and heavy eyes, but still scrounged up a last burst of energy to run eagerly across the marketplace straight to Daisy’s Discounts, shouting and hammering on her door. She’d greeted them with a suspicious glare and a shotgun pointed at their chests; but when she’d seen MacCready’s face, lit up with joy and victory, and the precious cargo cupped in his outstretched palms, she’d wailed and dropped the gun to the shop counter and pulled both men into a squeezing maternal embrace.

Chiv hadn’t been sure if ghouls could still cry, but Daisy’s dark eyes had been glistening wetly as she’d pulled back, ushering them into the shop and demanding they tell her the whole story, her usually neat hair in disarray from the late hour. They’d sat in her rooms upstairs, lit by candles and the orange glow of Goodneighbor’s streetlights, talking and celebrating until MacCready’s yawns had gotten more frequent than his talking, his head slipping to lean heavily on Chiv’s shoulder. They’d turned down Daisy’s gracious offer of a bedroll in favour of the creature comforts of the Hotel Rexford; but turning up at nearly three in the morning meant the only thing Clair Hutchins had for them was a furious glare and a single room. MacCready wasn’t completely sure she wasn’t just lying to spite them for disturbing her so late; not that the woman ever slept anyway, her grizzled head a permanent fixture behind the Rexford’s counter. But both men were beyond caring, their bodies exhausted but their hearts glowing from the high emotions of the day.

‘You’re _such_ an asshole, you know that? I deserve it after today,’ MacCready grumbled, dumping their packs unceremoniously on the couch and crossing his arms. Chiv just grinned at him, leaning up against the pillows and folding his arms behind his head, raising his eyebrows in the most irritating expression of condescension he could possibly manage.

‘Nu-uh, I deserve it more. You dragged me along for the ride today. ‘Sides, if I remember rightly, I did most of the work.’

That did it. MacCready dropped the blanket he’d been unfolding from the dresser and threw himself onto the bed, seizing Chiv’s leg and trying to drag him onto the floor. He yelped and grabbed on to the bars at the top of the bedframe, laughing.

‘Fuck off, you aren’t strong enough to mo-’

MacCready gave a huge tug, there was a resounding crack that echoed around the room, and Chiv slid halfway down the bed, his shirt rucked up to his armpits and an expression of utter surprise on his face. MacCready froze, terrified he’d snapped his wrists; but then Chiv brought his hands down from above his head and he saw the splintered wood clutched in them from the shattered bars of the bedframe.

‘Oh, shit,’ Chiv whispered, and then burst out laughing again, dropping the broken wood to the floor with a loud clunk. MacCready collapsed next to him, doubled over to muffle his own laughter in the sheets, eyes squeezed shut and tearing up. There was a hysterical edge to it, both of them still jittery with nervous energy, the danger and frighteningly close brushes today finally getting to them. Today had long since crossed the line into too-much, the events almost a delirious haze now, flashes of roaring drooling monsters and the deafening thunderclap of gunshot in enclosed spaces. MacCready’s laughter was bordering on sobbing, the bed shaking as his shoulders jerked uncontrollably, his chest hiccuping. Chiv rolled over to lay a hand on his upper arm, and the gentle squeeze of his fingers helped bring MacCready back down to earth. Giggles finally subsiding, he gasped for breath, shaking his head in apology.

‘Sorry...sorry. Today was...a lot.’

Chiv’s grey eyes faded into seriousness, his face just inches from MacCready’s own. His breath was heat and smoke as it ghosted over MacCready’s jaw, his thumb gently rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

‘You don’t need to apologise, I was there.’ He paused for a moment, his voice dropping to a murmur. ‘’S gonna sound stupid, but I’m really goddamn proud of you. You achieved something big today. I wish I had your courage.’

MacCready, back under control, looked at him in surprise.

‘My courage? I spent half the time hiding in the damn corner.’

Chiv nodded, his dark hair dragging against the sheets.

‘Yeah. But then you got up despite how fucking scared you were and you pretty much single-handedly destroyed an entire cell block of Ferals. I couldn’t have done that, that’s for damn sure.’

‘Are you kidding? You went into the Glowing Sea and fought a _deathclaw._ ’ MacCready brought a hand up to trace the scar on Chiv’s face, following the stark white line from his eyebrow, down his cheek, to his lips. ‘You didn’t get these falling over in church, pal.’

‘Two deathclaws,’ said Chiv, and the movement of his mouth beneath MacCready’s fingertips sent a tingle of electricity up his arm. ‘But that’s not what I mean, and you know it.’

They lay in silence for a moment, MacCready’s fingers still gently tracing the curve of Chiv’s lips before he realised what he was doing and let his hand drop back to the bedsheets. The bridge of his nose flushed slightly, a slow heat starting to creep through his chest, his stomach. Chiv cleared his throat.

‘So...you’re gonna stick around, then?’

‘What?’

Chiv’s eyes took on a nervous cast, his gaze slipping to the side. The hand on MacCready’s arm twitched.

‘I just...I dunno, I thought you might wanna go back to your kid. With the cure. I was surprised when Daisy just said she’d send word to you. I thought...I thought you’d take it back yourself, or something. Go home.’

MacCready sat up a little, propping himself up on one arm, his brows coming together in a frown.

‘No...hey, no. I mean yeah, I wanna go back to him, of course I do. But...we still have work to do. I meant what I said, in Med-Tek. That I’d follow you to the ends of the earth to repay that debt.’ Chiv’s grip tightened on his arm. ‘I’ll go back to him when I can, but...it’s gonna be a while before he’s strong enough to travel, to even leave Project Purity. I can’t do anything more for him. Right now, I gotta finish what we started. You hired me. I’m your man for...for…’

He trailed off, unsure what exactly he was Chiv’s man for, but it was enough. Chiv’s eyes were filled with gratitude, an almost painful relief. His hand slid from MacCready’s arm, trailed down his side to rest on his hip, warm and heavy, fingers just brushing the waistband of his jeans.

‘Thanks, RJ,’ he whispered. There was a beat, and then he shifted a little closer, tilting his head to press their foreheads together. He sighed quietly. ‘Y’know, I’ve never had a friend quite like you before.’

MacCready’s body felt weightless, his heartbeat picking up. The room was dark and cool and distant, his awareness fading down to just him and Chiv and the small remaining spaces in between. There was a twist of nervousness in his stomach as he spoke, echoing something Chiv had said, what felt like a lifetime ago as they curled together in his bed in Red Rocket.

‘Friends? That’s what we are?’

The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Chiv’s mouth as MacCready threw his own words back at him. The tip of MacCready’s tongue darted out to swipe his lower lip and Chiv’s eyes snapped down to the movement, his pupils large and dark.

‘What do you want us to be?’ he murmured. His eyes flicked up once to meet MacCready’s, a silent plea hidden behind the grey, lids heavy and half-closed in the dim light of the room. His thumb had slipped beneath the hem of MacCready’s t-shirt, drawing lazy circles on his hipbone.

MacCready tried to answer, he really did, but with Chiv’s breath dancing across his throat and his eyes warm and hopeful and his thumb dragging across his bare skin, the words just wouldn’t come. So instead, with his heart pounding in his ears, he tilted his head, and kissed him.

It started slow, chaste; a question, an answer, but with an electric current running just below the surface that made MacCready’s stomach swoop. Chiv’s lips were soft, which was surprising; everything else about the man was all hard angles and roughness. But then Chiv brought his hand up to cup MacCready’s face, his thumb brushing along the knife-edge of his jaw as he deepened the kiss. MacCready sighed into it, and Chiv murmured low in his chest in reply, shifting his body even closer to press a thigh between MacCready’s knees. MacCready didn’t know what to do with his hands; one fisted in the sheets between their chests, the other pressing flat against Chiv’s stomach, his t-shirt still tugged messily up to expose his torso. He couldn’t concentrate, could only focus on the slow, slick press of Chiv’s tongue against his, the sudden flare of heat in his gut. When Chiv finally pulled away, both of them panting slightly as they caught their breath, his eyes fixed on MacCready’s parted mouth before slowly dragging up his face to meet his gaze. His own eyes were glazing over, heavy-lidded, pupils large and dark, and MacCready felt a shiver run up his spine. There was a little half-smile quirking Chiv’s lips; a smile of relief, of triumph, of barely hidden want.

They came together again a little rougher, a little more confident, and _this_ was what MacCready had imagined kissing Chiv would be like. Teeth and tongue and his fingers sliding up to twine through MacCready’s messy hair, just-this-side of painful but enough to make him gasp into Chiv’s mouth. Chiv’s knee was still between his own, and the other man pushed up, pressing their bodies flush together. MacCready whined in the back of his throat, and immediately cursed himself for being so needy; but then Chiv sank his teeth into his bottom lip and he forgot how to control his voice. He tasted blood when he drew back, his tongue dipping out to swipe over the swell and heat of his bruised lip, feeling a little tug deep in his belly at the sharp sensation.

Chiv abandoned his mouth, trailed his lips across his cheek, along the line of his jaw, up to his ear, back down the column of his neck; it was all MacCready could do to grip his shoulders, bringing his hands up to dig his nails in as Chiv nipped at sensitive skin. God, but he could do this for hours; just close his eyes and let Chiv explore him, tip his head back and just feel as Chiv’s mouth roamed his face, his neck, his hands pushing up under his shirt to slide across his back, his chest. It’d been so long since anyone had touched him like this; and even then, with Lucy, they’d been so young, so nervous, it’d been barely more than self-conscious teenage fumbling. _This_ was different, riling him up in ways that were making his hands shake and his breath come in frantic gasps. The heat between them was reaching almost unbearable levels, but MacCready still needed more, Chiv’s thigh heavy between his legs and making it hard to resist grinding down on it. So when Chiv moved, shifted himself up onto his arms so he could push MacCready onto his back, lean over him; MacCready thought, _no way._ He wanted to be impressive, to take charge, wanted to fu- freakin’ blow Chiv’s _mind_ with how good he was.

He sat up, dislodging Chiv’s hands, grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it up over his head, his hair ruffled and even messier than usual when it popped out of the collar. Chiv stared at him in surprise for a moment, and MacCready felt a flash of annoyance as well as self-consciousness; well, what did he expect? That MacCready was just gonna lie there like a nervous teenager all night? But then Chiv regained his senses and scrambled to follow suit, sitting up to tug his already mussed up top the rest of the way off. He scooted back on the bed until his back hit the wall (and what was left of the ruined headframe), held out a hand towards MacCready, and quirked one eyebrow at him, that familiar wolfish grin returning to stretch the scarred corner of his lips.

‘I ain’t got any scented candles, I’m afraid.’

MacCready huffed out a breathless laugh, following him up the bed until he was straddling Chiv’s legs, perched just out of reach on his knees.

‘Didn’t figure you for the romantic sort. Haven’t you got more of the bad boy image going on?’

Chiv leaned in, wrapped his arms around MacCready’s bony hips to lift him forwards onto his thighs.

‘Oh, I can be bad,’ he murmured. His breath came out harsh and shaky as he settled MacCready back onto his lap, his voice cracking on something barely concealed beneath the surface. ‘If that’s what you want me to be.’

MacCready chuckled low in his throat, face flushing at the stupid line, but he couldn’t deny the growing pull in his belly, heat pooling in his gut as he leant down to shut Chiv up. He looped one hand around the back of his head to steady himself as they kissed, fingers rubbing at the scratch of short shaved hairs on his nape. Chiv was solid and warm between his thighs, the denim of his jeans stretched uncomfortable and restricting over where he was already hard and starting to ache, the rough contact of teeth and tongue and the press of their bare chests making his breath hitch and catch. He dragged his free hand down Chiv’s chest, nail catching on a nipple and drawing a hiss from between clenched teeth. Chiv dragged his lips open-mouthed over the soft skin at the front of his throat, his teeth a scraping warning, and MacCready moaned. His jeans were pressing down hard on his erection now, the stiff denim growing painful. He rocked his hips experimentally, trying to find a comfortable position, and suddenly Chiv’s breath was shot through with bullet holes.

‘Ooh _, fuck,’_ he groaned, and the sound went straight to MacCready’s cock. ‘Do that again.’

‘Do...do what?’ he panted, but Chiv’s hands had slid to his hips, thumbs hooking over the jut of bone as they wrapped around his slender body. He could feel him hard against his ass, his own cock pressing between his jeans and Chiv’s belly, strained and urgent. Spurred on by the insistent pull of Chiv’s hands, MacCready rolled his hips again, biting his lip as heat pulsed through him. Chiv let his head drop back, mouth falling open slightly.

‘Ha _ah,_ yeah, keep...keep doing that,’ he panted, his eyes fluttering shut, and MacCready was in no position to say no. He crashed their mouths together again, groaning low in his throat, setting a steady pace with his hips. Chiv’s fingers were digging rhythmically into his skin, sending shocks of pleasure racing up his spine. The bedframe was creaking again, and MacCready had to stifle a sudden giggle at the thought of the furious neighbor in the next room; but then Chiv’s hands were fumbling for his zip, tugging it down, his hands quick and insistent, and he forgot everything except the push and drag of their bodies.

‘Get those fucking jeans off,’ Chiv growled, and shoved him roughly back to tug his own down his legs as quickly as he could, an air of desperation in the way he almost tore them when they stuck on his ankle. They came back together with no time wasted, cocks pressing hard against each other through the fabric of their underwear, their ragged pants and moans loud in the quiet of the room as they rocked together, filling MacCready’s ears and sending deep pulses of pleasure through his gut. He glanced down, intending to make some cocky comment; and stuttered to a halt.

The only light was the dim glow fading in through the shutters, the neon glare of Goodneighbor’s streetlights, and it cast Chiv in shadow, the harsh glare throwing the curves and angles of his bare torso into sharp relief. The long, ragged scar on his thigh was stark where it slipped beneath his underwear, and MacCready reached down to trace it with one finger, earning himself a little shaky breath. The burn scar was mostly hidden in shadow where it curved around the side of Chiv’s hip and onto his back. So many old wounds; and MacCready knew they cut deeper than just flesh. But it was his eyes that caught MacCready; the deep, desperate longing for him hidden there, the need to love and be loved, a raw and painful thing that made his own heart skip sadly beneath his ribs. It was something he knew was echoed in his own gaze; but Chiv tilted his head questioningly, and the expression was gone as quickly as it had come, hidden again behind a guarded gaze and wary eyes.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ MacCready murmured, and leaned down to press a slower, deeper kiss to the other man. He felt Chiv tense slightly beneath him, before his hands slid slowly up from his hips to wrap around his slender waist, pulling him as close as he could. ‘I’m just really glad we’re doing...this.’

‘Me too, but hell, don’t stop now,’ Chiv chuckled, and with a sly grin MacCready started to rock his hips again. With their jeans gone, the contact was all the sweeter, MacCready’s spine crackling with electricity. He could already feel the white heat building low in his belly, his muscles tightening, his back arching as he rode hard, teeth clenched and head thrown back. He knew Chiv was staring, could feel his gaze burning into his skin, but the filthy noises coming from the other man’s mouth at the sight of him were enough to kill any self-consciousness he may have had. Absurdly, he almost laughed again, feeling a drop of sweat slide down the curve of his throat, dip into the jut of his collarbone where Chiv’s tongue found it. As he licked the salt from his skin, he reached down to wrap a hand around them both through the fabric of their underwear, squeezing hard. MacCready’s mouth dropped open, hinged on a pleasure-slurred groan.

‘Ah, _ffuucck...’_

‘What happened to your no swearing rule?’ Chiv panted against his throat, his breath hot and quick. ‘Don’t let me ruin your good intentions.’ He groaned, head tipping back to hit the wall as he rolled his hips up into him, hand pressing hard against them both. ‘ _Mmh…’_

‘Shut up, shut up, shut up,’ MacCready gasped, eyes squeezing shut and mouth tipping open as he bowed his back out, grinding down as hard as he could into Chiv’s hand and relishing in the reward of a drawn-out moan. ‘This doesn’t count.’

Chiv laughed, his body shaking, and MacCready sank his teeth _hard_ into his lower lip to keep from breaking. He could hear, see, _feel_ how close the other man was, his nails scraping down MacCready’s sides to bite deep into his hips, and it was only making it worse, his hands trembling as he scrabbled for purchase on Chiv’s sweat-slick shoulders.

‘That sounds like a... _haa, fuck_...a challenge,’ Chiv said, and despite everything MacCready rolled his eyes. ‘How...how many times can we get... _god..._ can we get RJ to swear?’

‘I’ll stop,’ MacCready threatened, but he was laughing too, the added pressure on his abdomen almost too much to bear. _God,_ this was good. Better than he’d ever imagined...and imagine it he had, more than he’d like to admit. Chiv’s body was hot and solid and so alive beneath him, every muscle stretched taut as he dropped his head back and just let MacCready grind down into him. MacCready, for his part, was almost completely gone; losing himself to the pleasure and the heat and the pounding of his own heart as he raced to the finish line, his moans growing higher and higher, too lost in it to care how he sounded. Chiv was a talker ( _and really, had MacCready expected any different?_ ) muttering pure nonsensical filth against his throat, his ear, into the air between them, his voice getting breathier and more desperate as they picked up speed, going harder, hand moving faster, more and more and _more_.

‘Oh, _fuck,_ RJ, so good, so good, you’re... _ffuugh,_ keep goin’, that’s it, c’mon, look at you, so fuckin’...how are you so... _I’m gonna..._ thatsitthatsitthatsit…!’

MacCready came first, his arms shaking and nearly giving out, hips losing their rhythm and jerking erratically until Chiv grabbed them and ground up into him again, riding him through it and into his own orgasm with a ragged moan. MacCready was completely lost, his body flushed with pleasure, his back arching so hard he thought it might break as he felt it rush through him. Even his fingertips were tingling as he slowly came back down to earth, aware of first his ragged breathing and then the white of his knuckles digging into Chiv’s shoulders and then, finally, the slight twitching of Chiv beneath him. He opened his eyes again, drawing in a slow, deep breath as he came back to himself.

‘ _Goddamn,’_ whispered Chiv, and then laughed weakly. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for a while, lemme tell you.’

MacCready raised a hand to swat him, but couldn’t find the energy, and settled for half-heartedly dropping his hand against his shoulder.

‘Why didn’t you say so sooner?’ he mumbled.

Chiv just shrugged, shifting beneath him and grimacing at the seized muscle in his thigh. He tapped MacCready’s sides gently, encouraging him to drag up enough energy to sling one leg over and allow Chiv out from beneath him. He stretched out on the bed as Chiv rubbed his leg, his body a long lean line of satisfaction, before pushing himself up into a sitting position.

‘What’re you doing?’

MacCready gestured weakly to the couch.

‘Was gonna…?’

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Chiv grunted, and grabbed him around the waist, pulling him down to lie beside him. His breath was warm and soft and deep, tracing down his spine as Chiv rested his forehead against the back of MacCready’s neck, groaning lightly in the back of his throat in a satisfied cats-purr. MacCready’s skin was slick with cooling sweat, his hair sticking up in all directions, his underwear wet and sticking to his skin; but the fatigue of the day was rushing back to his relaxed muscles, and his body felt like it was sinking down into the thin mattress. Chiv sighed, and pressed a lazy half-kiss to the top of his spine.

‘Gonna make you swear more next time,’ he muttered, his voice already slurred with sleep. ‘Wanna hear you really lose it.’

MacCready was too tired to respond, but felt the glow of laughter in his chest. Next time. So there _would_ be a next time. He felt the old tremor of nerves in the pit of his stomach; childish, really, after everything they'd been through together, to be scared of what this might mean. It could mean nothing...in the back of his mind there was the old doubt that he was still just a hired gun, still just MacCready the ex-Gunner mercenary instead of RJ, friend and...whatever else this made him. But on the other hand, it could mean everything. Chiv had kissed him before, after all. But Chiv's breathing was already slowing, his leg twitching slightly in a dog-kick, so there was no asking him now; and besides, MacCready didn't want to be  _that guy._ He shifted further into the other man's arms in a little snuggling movement, felt him grumble sleepily and tighten his grip on his waist. This certainly didn't feel like a one-time thing. But Chiv was a flirt, a charmer, and gave nothing away. There was no way of truly knowing.

He supposed time would tell what this had meant, whether it was a quick and easy way to get the stress of the day out - hell, the stress of the  _weeks_ out - or if Chiv had read more into it. MacCready shoved down the tiny glimmer of hope that kicked up beneath his ribs. He wasn't gonna pine and moon like a lovestruck kid, he told himself firmly. And in all honesty, whatever the future may hold; right now, with his body fully relaxed and sated for the first time in months, he was perfectly happy to just fall asleep to the sound of Chiv's breathing.

MacCready drifted into a carefree sleep, and for the first time in weeks, dreamt of absolutely nothing at all.

 

***

 

The city ruins were cast in shade, thick heavy clouds gathering overhead as they picked their way through the streets, the light morning mist still collecting in alleyways and in the cool shadows beneath awnings. They’d snuck out through the lobby early that morning as quietly as they could, before their irate neighbor could complain to Clair Hutchins about the noise from their room, MacCready’s nose burning with embarrassment as they slunk out into the dawn. He’d hoped fervently Clair wouldn’t connect the broken bedposts with the noise complaint until they were well shot of the town. He already had one reputation in Goodneighbor. He could do without another.

MacCready had insisted on stopping by Daisy’s before they left, needing to see for himself the cure passing into the hands of the trade caravan, needing to memorise the face of those he was entrusting to deliver his son’s life. Just in case. But even having done so, he was still distracted, his mind constantly wandering back to the tiny vial. It was so fragile, so precious; still wrapped protectively in MacCready’s scarf, but would that be enough to survive the harsh journey back down to the Capital Wasteland? To make matters worse, the caravan guards (not the strange one from the other night with the sunglasses - MacCready had double-checked that) had casually complained about the route changing. Going past Quincy was too dangerous now; traders were having to travel along the coast, and it was adding on an extra few days to the already overly long journey. MacCready had paled at that, feeling slightly sick, but had ignored Chiv’s questioning glance. Even after last night _,_ whatever they wanted to call what was going on between them, there was still a hell of a lot of stuff he was going to keep close to his chest.

His mind drifting, he nearly missed the Raider in the upper-story window, just catching the tell-tale glint of a scope flashing in the dim sunlight at the last second, whipping up his rifle to fire off a hasty shot that nevertheless took the Raider directly in the throat. Their body fell from the window with a gurgle, landing heavy and broken on a pile of brick and rubble on the pavement.

‘ _RJ,’_ said Chiv with a long-suffering sigh. ‘The cure’s gonna be _fine._ Did you see the look on the trader’s face when you levelled your rifle at him? Between that and Daisy’s glare I thought he was gonna cry. He’s gonna look after that cure with his life, count on it. Now _stop worrying._ We need you sharp today. _’_

‘I’m sharp,’ MacCready grumbled, but it took a concerted effort to keep his thoughts from straying. Not just to the cure, either; the slight ache of overexertion in his thighs and the oversensitivity of his shirt collar rubbing on the bitten skin at his throat was sending his mind drifting back to the night before, too. A tiny shudder ran the length of his spine, remembering Chiv’s low voice and his panting breath hot against his ear. As they slipped through the early-morning streets, their hands would brush together occasionally, sending little sparks of warmth up through MacCready’s chest. He wondered if Chiv was doing it deliberately, watched the sly slide of his laughing grey eyes as he cast him little glances back over his shoulder, started to grin in return and jog forward to -

Noise ahead. Both men dropped instinctively into a crouch, pressing themselves to the warming bricks of the building beside them, slinking through the shadows as they crept to the corner. Chiv gripped his wrist to hold MacCready back behind him as he leaned around the edge of the building, inching his face out, body tense and ready to pull back; but then he sighed harshly through his nose, shoulders sinking briefly before squaring up, and he stepped out into the open street. MacCready followed, curious; then groaned when he saw the source of the sound.

A Vertibird was parked halfway down the street, massive and imposing and unnecessary; the Brotherhood summed up in one big steel metaphor. Foot soldiers flitted about the base like a swarm of bloatflies, one huge Knight in power armor toting a minigun and watching over the operation. Chiv and MacCready walked down the centre of the street, weapons holstered in a display of peace, but it didn’t stop two of the Scribes from levelling their rifles at them, calling them to a halt before they got too close.

‘No civilians through here. This is Brotherhood business. The area’s under our control.’

Chiv snorted derisively, and MacCready rolled his eyes.

‘Under your control? Says who?’

The younger of the two Scribes tightened her grip on her rifle, eyes narrowing at them.

‘Elder Maxson. We have orders not to let anyone through. There’s important tech in this building, and we won’t have Wastelanders getting in our way.’

MacCready cast a sceptical eye over the ruined building. _Important tech, my ass._ This was just more Brotherhood pushing and shoving, testing the waters like they’d done in the Capital Wasteland, looking for ways to start exerting their power over the little guys. Chiv was staring at them in open disdain, the scarring on his face making him look much more dangerous than he was as his brow furrowed over his steely grey eyes. MacCready noted the Initiate foot soldiers slowing their work, reaching for their rifles nervously, stopping what they were doing to watch the exchange.

‘What the fuck? You’re gonna make us walk halfway round the city through Raider territory just so you can scavenge a load of old crap? Stop playing around and let us through.’

Chiv’s voice was bored, disdainful. He took a step forward, and the two Scribes moved to block him immediately. He scoffed loudly. ‘Come _on_. This is the only safe way through.’

The Scribes exchanged glances, and the older one raised his weapon to point directly at Chiv’s face, an open threat. MacCready immediately raised his own rifle, finger resting lightly beside the trigger, eyes narrowing dangerously as he focused in on his target’s heart. He caught the wary flicker of the Scribe’s eyes. _That’s right,_ he thought savagely. _You better be fu- freaking scared._

‘Orders are no-one comes through. It’s not my problem where you go instead, as long as it’s not through here.’

Chiv’s lip curled in anger and he took another step forward, fists clenched; but the minigun in the Knight’s hands started to whir up, the sound clenching MacCready’s stomach in ice. A Scribe he could take, but this...

‘Chiv, leave it.’

‘Why should I? These guys don’t have authority over me,’ he growled, staring straight at the visor of the power armor. ‘I’m not one of your little obedient lapdogs. I’ll go where I want, thanks. Get out of the way.’

‘ _Chiv,’_ said MacCready, and his voice was pitched low enough to catch his attention, the other man glancing back at him with anger fizzing behind his dark eyes. One of the Scribes laughed.

‘You should listen to your friend,’ she said, rifle still pointing at Chiv’s face; but the barrel was wavering, the safety on, not a real threat. MacCready could kill her and at least two of her soldiers before she even got a single shot off. ‘Last chance. Back off.’

Chiv’s knuckles were white, and he ground his teeth together, standing still for a long, tense moment; MacCready spread his feet a little in the dirt, shifting his balance in readiness. But then Chiv turned sharply on his heel, openly displaying his back to them in a very clear message of contempt, and stalked off down the street with his teeth bared. MacCready did the same, copying Chiv’s _we-ain’t-scared-of-you_ attitude, but still feeling the prickle and burn between his shoulder blades as the soldiers kept their rifles trained on their retreating backs. They were barely out of earshot before Chiv started ranting.

‘Who the fuck do they think they are? _No civilians,’_ he snarled in a mocking voice. ‘Fucking pricks. Just cause they got big guns and a big fuck-off airship? They’re gonna make us walk halfway round the goddamn city straight through Raider heartland just so they can, what? Steal some old shit from a building? What’s their deal?!’

MacCready just huffed, shrugging his shoulders, the danger-itch only fading from his spine as they rounded the corner and moved out of sight.

‘They’re Brotherhood. That’s just what they’re like. I told you before, they don’t give a single sh- crap about anyone who isn’t one of theirs. They did this in D.C and they’ll do it here.’ He adjusted his pack over his shoulder, glancing up at the darkening sky. A storm was coming. He hoped it wasn’t from the Glowing Sea. ‘They don’t care about anything or anyone except their own greater good. They’re not necessarily bad people, don’t get me wrong, I’ve known Brotherhood soldiers who were decent. It’s just their whole ideology. It’s flawed, stuck in the past.’

Chiv kicked viciously at a chunk of brick in the road, sending it bouncing away across the asphalt to clang loudly off of an overturned car. MacCready watched it thoughtfully.

‘You ever heard the phrase Old World Blues?’

Chiv shook his head.

‘Nah, I guess you wouldn’t have. It’s a post-War saying. Means people who’re obsessed with the past, so much so that they can’t see anything else. They can’t live for now, too desperate to turn back the clocks. But that’s not how anything works.’ He sighed, rolling his shoulder beneath his hand. ‘The Brotherhood think technology was the downfall of mankind. They want to find every bit they can, destroy it, keep it out of the hands of everyone except themselves so it doesn’t get used for the wrong purposes. Or so they say. Truth of it is, I think they just like the superiority.’

‘Yeah, I’m starting to get that vibe from them,’ growled Chiv. Above them, they heard the growing roar of another incoming Vertibird. MacCready wondered, with a little trepidation, just how common an occurrence this was going to become, as the Brotherhood began to tighten their steel fists around the Commonwealth.

They walked in silence, Chiv still seething with anger as they wound through the streets that made up the outskirts of the Raider’s territory. Twisted piles of metal draped with the limbs and heads of their victims decorated the roads, filthy home-made flags daubed with thick clotted blood in the shape of gang symbols dripping down the side of buildings. MacCready curled his lip in disgust, but Chiv seemed almost eager, spoiling for a fight, like a dog pulling at the chain as he lead them between buildings and past trashed cars.

‘You wanna slow down?’ MacCready grumbled, a line of trepidation working up the back of his neck. This was not the place to be rushing through; yeah, they both wanted to get out quickly, get back to the relative safety of the main roads. But Raiders could be anywhere, in any building, setting up an ambush ahead or closing in behind. It was surprising they hadn’t encountered any already. In fact, the streets were almost too quiet...Raiders didn’t exactly sneak about, and most of them were in a permanent wasted state anyway; there should be at least _some_ noise to -

There was a muffled explosion from up ahead, a rattle of gunfire heart-poundingly close, and then the raucous laughter of Raider scum. Chiv froze, body taut, and MacCready’s hands instinctively checked his clip.

‘What was…?’

A scream rent the air; high, young and terrified. Chiv’s face twisted into an expression of concern, darting directly towards the source of the sound; but there was the hint of a vicious smile, too. Blood splashed underfoot as he ran past the decapitated bodies that made up the Raider's territorial markers.

‘Come on!’ Chiv yelled over his shoulder, racing down the open street with his shotgun ready in his hands. MacCready knew he wasn’t doing it for any mercenary reason; the Wastelander they were scrambling to rescue would undoubtedly be eternally grateful, but if he was this deep in Raider heartland, MacCready doubted he’d have any caps as a reward. And Chiv wasn't usually given to acts of heroics without a clear reward. No, this was bloodsport, pure and simple, an excuse to shed the pent-up rage of the Brotherhood encounter. He knew Chiv too well; knew he was feeling the burning urge to prove himself after having to turn tail and walk away from the soldiers.

But MacCready had sworn to follow him anywhere. And there was no way in hell he was letting him take on a Raider pack alone.

With the tingle of adrenaline beginning to work through his veins, he flicked off the safety on his rifle, and followed Chiv into the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge apologies for missing an update last week (and for this one being a couple days late), I’m out of the country at the moment so have been busy preparing for that and getting ahead with my studies before I left. I also hit a HUGE block with the first scene, it’s actually the first full explicit scene I’ve ever written and massive thanks go to [Shubbabang](http://shubbabang.tumblr.com) for her grumpy MacCready drawing that forced me to ‘Frickin get sh-... stuff done!’
> 
> Also, check out [this wonderful drawing](http://theartofblossoming.tumblr.com/post/159416744804/for-whatshappeningcowboy-chiv-and-rj) The Art of Blossoming did of Chiv and MacCready! Thank you very much, it really means a lot that my little story has inspired someone that much!! I’m so grateful to everyone who’s messaged, commented, left kudos or even just read this thing. I never expected this response but I’m so happy you’re all enjoying it and I hope you continue to do so!
> 
> Find me at [whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com!](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com/)


	9. Fracture

MacCready rounded the corner of the building and ran straight into hell.

The Raiders had taken over what looked like an apartment block, twisted piles of spiked metal and ragged flags decorating the front of the building in a macabre display of primal intimidation. MacCready winced as his gaze roved over the severed heads impaled on pikes, dried blood cracked and browning on their agonised frozen expressions. This wasn’t just your average roving gang, then; this was a permanent base of operations, the centre of the Raider territory they’d been forced to cross. _Goddamn Brotherhood of Steel,_ he snarled internally, fighting back the fury threatening to throw off his concentration. _And goddamn moron Chiv!_

The street was choked with vehicles, a truck jackknifed across the road with its cab jammed firmly into the front of what seemed to have been a laundromat, rusting cars swerved and overturned behind it. Glass crunched underfoot as he ran, throwing himself down behind the most intact one, instinct taking over as he pressed his back into the cover. Chiv was halfway down the street, out in the open like the fu- freaking _idiot_ he was, grappling with a Raider woman whose face was war-painted with what looked horribly like old blood. His shotgun lay discarded in the dirt at his feet, both hands gripping the tyre iron she was furiously trying to smash into his skull, forcing it back towards her. She ripped it from his grasp, swung hard, and Chiv snarled as he reared his head back just in time, the weapon grazing his cheekbone and opening a gash that welled immediately with blood. MacCready felt thick fear rise in his throat; but then Chiv lashed out with one foot, caught her legs and sent her crashing to the ground, and in a clumsy movement fumbled his shotgun back into his arms and turned it on the woman.

MacCready swallowed hard, forced himself to tear his gaze away as it blasted once, twice, the wet squelch of victory drowned out by the screams and jeers of the rest of the Raider gang. Above it all came the high terrified scream of their hostage, whoever they were; MacCready ground his teeth, hoping they were worth it. He prayed Chiv had the sense to get back into cover as he leaned his rifle over the top of the car, taking long deep breaths to steady himself as he lined up his shots. Two Raiders on the top of the truck, hollering as they waved their weapons above their heads.

_One._

_Two._

Another steadying breath. A lone figure emerging from an upper window, shimmying down the rusted remnants of an old scaffold support, faceless in a sack hood but heading straight for Chiv.

_Exhale._

_Bullseye._

One more bursting from the main building, crashing through the doors with a wild whoop and a scream of ancient hinges. MacCready squinted down his scope, a single drop of sweat working down his brow.

_Miss._

_Hit._

MacCready pulled back into cover, lip twisted in annoyance, reloading his rifle deftly. The truck was blocking his view, obscuring the main group now pouring from the building; he could hear Chiv yelling further away, hear the tinny pop of pipe pistols beneath the roar of his shotgun. The sky was growing darker by the minute, thick heavy storm clouds closing in above them, ruining visibility; but MacCready had shot in worse conditions, had shot in radstorms and subways and the dead of night, so to him the gathering shade was just another thing he could use to his advantage. He just had to get to a better position.

As a particularly heavy cloud blew in, choking off the sunlight and masking the glint of his scope, he slipped out from his scant cover and darted from car to car up the road, sliding through the shadows until he reached the scaffold. Stepping over the fallen Raider at the bottom with a disgusted curl of his lip, he slung his rifle onto his back and shimmied up as quickly as he could, feet light and sure as he darted along the wobbling planks and hauled himself up the rusted scaffolding. He focused on the pull of one hand after the other, the steady placement of one foot and the next, blocking out the noise of the fight below. _Don’t look down_ was the one thing they drilled into your head in Little Lamplight when you ran the rickety bridges of the main caverns, and it was probably the one rule in his life he ever truly obeyed.

He was almost at the top when the Raider burst through one of the empty window-frames and seized his ankle, dragging him roughly halfway into the room. A cry of surprise and terror burst unbidden from his throat as he hit the metal catwalk hard, hands scrabbling for something to grab on to. There was a brief, horrible tug-of-war, MacCready cursing his crappy upper-body strength as he wrapped his hands around a rusted, broken pole and tried to drag himself back out of the window. The rough metal was scraping his palms, his back arching as he pulled, muscles screaming in his arms and thighs.

A searing pain in his ankle; he yelled, kicked out, felt his foot connect hard with something - there was a snarl of pain and anger from the room and the vicegrip around his calf relented just enough for him to wrench his leg back over the windowsill. His trouser leg was ripped open, a jagged gash in the flesh below, blood already soaking through the material. His knuckles were white on the scaffolding poles, clenched in pain and fear; the Raider reared out of the window again, grabbing for him, blood pouring from their broken nose as they raised their machete again.

‘You’re gonna get it now, you little fuck!’

MacCready bared his teeth in a primal snarl, the only defense he could manage in his position, and waited for the blow; but then there was a hiss-and-zip in his ear, and a bullet clanged off the metal scaffold just inches from his hand. MacCready yelped in pain as the vibrations shot through his fingers, his hand instinctively letting go. He fell hard, head cracking against the catwalk, body arched awkwardly half out of the window. The Raider dived out of the window after him, tumbling forward onto his chest and knocking the wind from him, soaking his jacket with...blood? He pushed back, scrambling away as quickly as he could, dangerously close to the edge of the scaffold; but the Raider didn’t follow. They stayed face-down on the catwalk planks, blood dripping down onto the street below from the gaping bullet-hole in their chest.

‘ _RJ!_ You good?’

Chiv was standing in the street below, a long pipe pistol in his hands, neck craned up to try and see what was going on.

‘ _Fuck,’_ he breathed, heart pounding too hard and fast to care about the curse as he stared wide-eyed at the Raider on the floor. One way or another, Chiv’s bad aim was going to be the death of him.

MacCready raised a slightly shaky hand to him and he turned away immediately, running back to clash with a trio of Raiders who’d burst from the apartment block below and were closing on him fast. But with MacCready at a height advantage, the battle swung very quickly in their favor. With his rifle balanced on the roof edge, the gathering storm hiding his position, and a clear view down to the ground, it was over in moments. Raiders fought unorganised, a mob, a rabble; running every which way and getting under each other’s feet. No tactics, no discipline. It was almost too easy to pick them off.

They came back together on the broken sidewalk, MacCready making his way slowly down the scaffolding, favoring his good leg. Concern creased Chiv’s brow as he neared the ground, and he reached out to help him down the last slope of planks, gripping his arm to steady him. The squeeze of his fingers was grounding, a momentary flash of relief that they’d come through this okay, unharmed; before it was replaced by anger that Chiv’s recklessness had gotten them into that situation in the first place. MacCready pulled his arm out of his grip.

‘You okay? You hurt?’

MacCready gestured shortly to his leg, dropping to one knee with a grimace.

‘Leg’s bleeding pretty bad.’

Chiv’s face paled slightly with guilt.

‘How bad?’

Sinking his teeth into his lip to bite back his fear, MacCready pulled up the hem of his jeans; but thankfully, _thankfully,_ it was just a superficial wound. Deep, and dirty, and painful as heck; but no bone, no arteries, thing that would kill him. Dropping the hem and straightening up, he gingerly tested his weight on his ankle; another gush of blood soaked into the hem of his trousers as pain shot up through his leg, but it held.

‘Did you find the hostage?’

Chiv nodded, flicked his head in the direction of the truck, a little spatter of blood spraying from the gash on his cheek as he did so.

‘Yeah. In back of there. Go, uh...it’s not…not quite…’

MacCready was already limping over to the crashed vehicle, determined to see exactly who they’d risked it for. _Better be a goddamn princess or something,_ he growled to himself, heaving himself up into the open container, the doors long since rusted off their hinges. _Better have a fu...freakin’ huge pile of caps to make this worth…_

A body lay on the floor just inside the container, sprawled and horrifically mangled and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling with a look of pained relief on its face. MacCready winced at the extent of the injuries, then let his shoulders slump in disappointment. Chiv hopped semi-gracefully up to stand beside him, shrugging in a whaddaya-gonna-do gesture.

‘Too late. Poor kid was probably already half dead before we even got -’

‘Don’t shoot! Please!’

Both men jumped a mile, guns flying up, safety off and snarls on. A young man had burst from behind the packing crates at the back of the container, arms shaking and raised high above his head, his eyes wild and rolling with fear. Chiv lowered his shotgun in surprise, but MacCready kept his trained between the boy’s eyes, and he sobbed in terror.

‘Please!’ The boy was struggling to stay upright, his knees shaking. Blood soaked the front of his torn outfit; some strange filthy jumpsuit thing. ‘Please, help me! They...they killed K2!’

‘K2…?’ echoed Chiv, cocking his head. The boy’s eyes flickered to the body on the floor, and MacCready’s grip tightened on his rifle, a cold suspicion creeping up the back of his neck. Chiv stepped forward, gesturing to the boy to sit down on the crates, but MacCready kept staring at the body on the floor. It had clearly been tortured before death, so mangled and broken he’d had to look away at first; but now, looking closer, something wasn’t quite right. The guts were wrong, the sprawl of the body just that bit _off,_ uncanny and unnatural. Here and there, in the chest cavity, in the snapped arm; a shimmer of wiring, a glint of ceramic...

‘It’s a synth,’ he said, and suddenly a jolt of anger flooded through his stomach. ‘It’s a freaking synth. We risked all that...’ He stared down at the broken corpse for a moment longer, then turned away with a sigh. The surviving boy was shaking, eyes darting to the body on the floor and then away every few seconds, speaking in a trembling voice to Chiv.

‘He...we escaped together. I’m J6-17. We got out yesterday, we got to the surface but we didn’t know where to go or what to do, there...there’s supposed to be someone who meets you but it was so dark…’ His voice was growing higher, more hysterical, his hands raising to grip at his hair frantically. ‘K2 said we should look for people, look for help...he always knew better than me, I just went along with it, I should have told him no, it’s my fault, it’s my fault!’

He broke down into sobs, leaning forward with his head in his hands. MacCready made a reflexive movement with his hand, then stopped himself.

‘He’s a synth, Chiv, we should -’

‘You’re from the Institute?!’

Chiv had dived forward, seized the front of the boy’s filthy jumpsuit and dragged him half up off the crates, urgency lined in the tension of his body.

‘Y-yes…’ he stuttered, voice a squeak of fear, hands coming up to rest over Chiv’s and try and tug them loose from his clothes.

‘As in you’ve _been inside_ the Institute? Yesterday?!’

The synth nodded, looking like he was about to faint from terror. Chiv gave a crow of triumph, sending the boy reeling again as he let go of his jumpsuit, punching one hand into his fist eagerly.

‘Is he there? Is Shaun in there?’

‘I...Shaun?’

Chiv’s face was glowing, a wild vicious urgency beneath the bruises and the blood.

‘A boy! A child they stole, sometime within the last few years. Is he in there?! Is he alive?!’

J6 opened his mouth...and then stopped. A frown slowly creased his forehead, his mouth working a few times as he tried to speak, his hands dropping from Chiv’s grip to lay heavy in his lap.

‘I...I don’t...I don’t remember,’ he whispered, and an expression of pure terror slacked his face. ‘Why can’t I remember?!’

Chiv’s face dropped, and MacCready ground his teeth in frustration.

‘Figures. Institute’s not gonna let synths walk out with valuable information, are they? They must have like...a mind wipe or something.’

Chiv gave a drawn-out, exasperated sigh.

‘RJ, this isn’t one of your lame-ass comics.’

MacCready glared at him.

‘Well what’s your suggestion?’

Chiv considered the synth for a moment, disappointment painted clear on his face, then finally shrugged as if there was no other option.

‘We take him to the Railroad.’

MacCready just stared at him.

‘You’re not serious.’

Chiv nodded, turning his back on the synth and lowering his voice. The boy was too busy sobbing into his hands to pay much attention, at any rate.

‘Deadly. Look, we’re heading there anyway, right? What does it matter if he tags along? He’s got information, I know it. He can help us get inside!’

‘We _have_ a way to get inside. He’s a liability,’ MacCready hissed between clenched teeth. ‘He’s unarmed, he’s got no survival skills, he’s injured. We don’t know where the Railroad even is, we’ve just got that stupid code to follow. What if we don’t find it? Then what? Better to leave him, give him a stimpak and directions and let him make his own way. We don’t need the responsibility.’

But as he was saying it, his gaze drifted back to the synth boy. He was bent double over the packing crates, face buried in his folded arms as he cried, hands tearing at his hair in a perfect display of pure grief.

_This how you’d want people to treat Little Lamplighters when they first made it to the surface?_

A jolt of sick guilt hit him in the pit of the stomach. This was a _synth,_ not a Lamplighter...but he certainly looked pretty damn human, curled crying over his dead friend, alone and scared and sickeningly familiar. MacCready swallowed hard. If he didn’t have any memories left of the Institute, there was no way he could relay stuff back to them, right? And if it was only whilst they followed the Trail...if they kept their mouths shut, what information could they glean that couldn’t be found out by just watching them anyway?

‘...alright look. If you come with us, you have to do exactly as we tell you, when we tell you.’

Chiv glanced at him, surprised; MacCready deliberately didn’t meet his eyes. J6 looked up from the crates, his eyes red-rimmed with tears; _god, they really thought of everything in there,_ thought MacCready with a very uncomfortable prickle at the back of his neck. Chiv pulled a pipe pistol from his pack, looted from one of the Raiders, and tossed it at the boy, who fumbled it into his hands in a way which made it extremely obvious he had never held a weapon before in his life. Chiv gave a little sigh of exasperation, before reaching out a hand to pull him up from the crates.

‘Alright, kid, looks like it’s your lucky day. We’re gonna take you to the Railroad.’

As they hopped out of the back of the truck, MacCready glanced one last time at the ruined body of the other synth.

If this was preferable to the inside of the Institute...what exactly were they taking on?

 

***

 

The storm broke a few minutes later, starting slow but building quickly to a crescendo of rain and hail that battered the three men as they slipped through the city streets. Thunder rumbled deep and low overhead, lightning brightening the streets in flashes that were coming more and more frequently as the minutes passed. MacCready was gritting his teeth as he walked, shoulders hunched against the driving rain, hat and jacket doing little to protect him as the wind blew it in all directions.

 _Least it’s not a radstorm,_ he thought; and then immediately cursed himself, sure he’d jinxed it and any moment Chiv’s Pip-Boy would start clicking away in that telltale manner. There was one good thing, though. The cold was numbing the pain of his ankle somewhat, making it a little easier to walk, the rain washing the blood from his clothes.

Chiv led the way, combat shotgun gripped in his frozen hands, eyes squinted and scowling against the rain. At least it made him look somewhat threatening, MacCready thought drily, combined with the scars and the fresh gash on his cheek. The synth boy walked between them, twitchy and jumpy, flinching at every clap of thunder and every foreign sound that echoed through the streets. It was strange to watch; the look of wonder on his face when the rains started, the glances of horror as they passed a skeleton draped over a fence, the exaggerated scream that ripped from his throat as Chiv took down a radroach that darted out from under an overturned school bus. MacCready wondered what the hell the Institute was like, if this was all a shock to him. But his constant twitching and nervous energy was rubbing off on him, setting his teeth on edge, making the crash of the thunder and the strange shadows cast by the lightening that much more exaggerated. MacCready’s trigger finger was itching, his rifle gripped just that little bit tighter in his hands. This was the sort of weather that would be perfect for an ambu-

A flock of crows burst from a graveyard as they passed, and the synth boy yelped again. MacCready jumped a mile, ice gripping his stomach, knuckles whitening on his rifle as the crows clattered up into the sky, screaming and cawing to each other. Chiv looked up, followed the birds’ flight through the buildings; then glanced over his shoulder and slowed his pace, waving the synth boy past him until he was walking level with MacCready, the boy a few paces ahead, walking a little unsteadily.

‘Relax, RJ,’ he said as they came in line, and the casually amused tone to his voice sent a wave of anger through MacCready’s body. ‘He’s unarmed, look at him. He’s not a threat.’

‘It’s not him I’m worried about _,’_ MacCready growled through clenched teeth. ‘Have you forgotten what you’ve got in your pocket?’ Chiv’s hand strayed guiltily to his pack, the courser chip wrapped carefully within. ‘We’re playing with fire here. You can’t throw yourself into the path of danger like that for no good reason.’

‘I had a reason,’ Chiv grumbled, his words almost lost in the beat of the rain. ‘I heard the kid scream.’

‘Don’t pretend like you did it to be a hero,’ MacCready snapped. ‘You did it because you were pissed off at the Brotherhood. You dragged us _both_ into danger.’

Chiv scoffed, but his eyes were downcast.

‘Danger? RJ, c’mon, we’ve taken out the Gunners, we cleared Med-Tek, we’ve been in the city for weeks. We’re a good team, we’re practically untouchable. Bunch of Raiders wasn’t gonna be a problem.’

A wave of pain washed up MacCready’s leg from his injured ankle.

‘Chiv…’

He stopped walking, grabbed his arm, pulled him to a halt and forced him to turn and face him. Chiv tried to grin at him, cocksure and confident, but it fell flat under the bruising and blood on his face.

‘You can’t afford to get cocky out here. This is the _Wasteland._ This isn’t a game. We work well together, yeah. We’ve been lucky so far, yeah. But we cannot afford to get bigheaded about it.’ He sighed, shook water from the brim of his cap. ‘No matter how big or bad you might feel there’s always gonna be something bigger or badder out there. And if you start mouthing off and acting the idiot, it’s gonna come looking for you.’

The synth boy had stopped further up the road, twisting his hands nervously, watching them. Chiv’s eyes slid to the floor, a fleeting shadow crossing his face, and MacCready felt his anger abate a little. He sighed, nodded reassuringly to the synth boy, and started walking again.

‘Look, I’m not asking for an apology. But next time you wanna act the idiot, try and remember what I just said. At least don’t drag me along for the ride. We’re good, but we’re not invincible.’

‘Listen to you, big bad MacCready telling me not to get cocky,’ Chiv grinned. MacCready dug his elbow into his ribs, feeling a smile curl the corner of his mouth despite himself.

‘There’s cocky, and then there’s just plain stupid. I don’t gotta tell you who’s who.’

 

***

 

‘MacCready! Over here!’

MacCready looked up from where he’d been bandaging his ankle, kneeling out of the rain in the scant shelter of a tree, to see Chiv waving him over the to entrance to the Common. A large, imposing water fountain was filled to the brim with rainwater, the rush of overflow dripping down mimicking its pre-War functions in an almost mocking display. MacCready tested his ankle again, found it sturdy, jogged over with only one slipped footfall as a twinge of pain shot up through his calf. Chiv had propped his pack up beside the fountain and MacCready dropped his own beside it as he approached. J6 stood nearby beside an ancient Protectron pod, tapping hesitantly at the terminal beside it. MacCready raised an eyebrow at Chiv, who just shrugged.

‘What is it?’

Chiv pointed to the fountain, where a chunk of plyboard rested up against it. J6 turned from the old terminal, smiling shyly as he recited the phrase scrawled on the sign in white paint.

‘“At journey’s end, follow freedom’s lantern.” That’s the Railroad, isn’t it? That’s what it means?’

Chiv beckoned MacCready over to where he stood, an ornate seal embedded into the ground at his feet, partially obscured by a puddle. As he reached him, a huge fork of lightning flashed across the sky above them, the thunder an immediate gunshot that cracked the clouds and made all three flinch. J6 stepped nervously away from the terminal. As the aftershocks rumbled through the buildings, MacCready had to strain to hear Chiv speak.

‘See this? It’s got a code or something. Look, they’ve outlined the letter A, and there’s a number. ‘M gonna jot ‘em down on here,’ he added, waving his Pip-Boy at MacCready. ‘There must be more of these. If we follow the line of...bricks…’

Chiv trailed off suddenly, staring over MacCready’s shoulder, mouth hanging ajar and eyes widening in the gloom. MacCready felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. From the remains of the lake, there was a sickeningly thick bubbling noise; the filthy, sludgy water pulling and sucking at something as it rose from the depths. There was a low rumble, getting louder and louder even over the rain and thunder; a growl of anger at being awakened by the storm, growing more formidable as the three men came into view.

Trespassers.

_Prey._

MacCready heard J6’s breath whistle in a horrified punched-out exhale behind him as he turned.

A Super Mutant Behemoth was lumbering from the lake, body huge and distorted and horrifyingly strong. MacCready felt all the breath leave his lungs as he took in the boat strapped to its arm, the massive anchor wielded as a club in its other hand, the bared and broken teeth in its warped, furious face. It hauled itself onto the bank, awoken by the thunder and the rain, blinking pond scum from its eyes. As it spotted the three men, it threw its head back and _roared,_ an earth-trembling sound that made MacCready’s blood turn to ice.

_Always something bigger and badder._

‘What do we do?’ Chiv whispered. MacCready just pulled his rifle from his shoulders, deftly checking the clip and flicking off the safety.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, and the first boulder smashed at their feet in a spray of filthy water, flung in a rage as the Behemoth began to crash towards them, bellowing in fury at the intruders in its pond. MacCready broke his stance, grabbed J6’s wrist and hauled him away from the terminal as Chiv darted for cover from the flying rocks.

‘But it’s nearly…!’

‘Leave it! Come on!’ he yelled, tugging the synth along behind him as he ran, ducking and weaving, feeling the horrible burn of anticipation on his spine and expecting any second to feel the Behemoth’s huge hands wrap around his body, or a boulder to knock him flat. J6 kept pace as best he could, body on autopilot in fear and horror as he tripped and stumbled along behind MacCready. But where could they go? He couldn’t leave Chiv, the buildings nearby were all boarded up and blocked off, the city centre being the worst hit; the fast pace was sending ribbons of pain winding up his leg, so no chance of climbing out of range. J6’s foot slipped in a puddle and they both nearly went down, slipping and sliding through the mud. MacCready turned to roughly pull him up; and there, behind him, was the answer.

_The station._

‘This way!’

He could hear Chiv shouting off to his left, distracting the Behemoth with the most ridiculous taunts and jeers; could Behemoths even still understand human speech? But by some miracle it was working, drawing the creature away long enough for MacCready and the synth to reach the mouth of the station and push the boy down the slope.

‘Find somewhere to hide and _stay down!’_

Hoping the kid had the sense to obey, MacCready limped as fast as he could around the back of the station, heart in his throat, half-expecting to see Chiv’s body sprawled out somewhere with the Behemoth standing over him. But no; Chiv was backed into the bandstand in the centre of the Common, the Behemoth wielding its huge anchor like a club as it smashed at the roof in a vain attempt to reach him.

MacCready dropped immediately to one knee, flicking rainwater from the brim of his hat as he lined up his shots and began firing, fast and pinpoint accurate. He noticed with a sick jolt that Chiv was surrounded by nuclear waste barrels, his Pip-Boy’s Geiger counter audible even from this far away, the individual clicks blurred together from the intensity of the radiation. MacCready’s bullets were doing nothing; burying themselves deep into the Behemoth’s hide, but it was little more than an annoying sting for the gigantic creature, and the broken pieces of swan-boat strapped across his torso were effectively covering up all the places that would do some real damage. There had to be _something_ he could use to get Chiv away...

‘Chiv! The Protectron!’

He wasn’t sure if he could hear him over the pounding rain and the Behemoth’s furious bellows; but suddenly he changed tactic, blasting his shotgun directly into the Behemoth’s massive foot. The Behemoth roared in pain and stumbled backwards, and it was enough; Chiv was away, vaulting over the bandstand fence and running across the open Common back towards the fountain, diving for the Protectron booth and smashing his hand in desperation onto the keyboard of the ancient terminal beside it. There was a long moment, Chiv glancing back over his shoulder, face pale and drawn; and then a hiss, a puff of sealed air, and the pod doors slid open, allowing the old robot to step out into the rain.

No time to celebrate; Chiv darted away again, this time cutting across towards MacCready, who was still unloading round after round into the Behemoth’s thick hide. The Protectron began firing, and the Behemoth roared again, rounding on the tough robot as Chiv reached MacCready, chest heaving as he gasped for breath.

‘You okay? Where’s the kid?’

‘In the station. Chiv, you need Radway, the bandstand -’

Chiv waved a hasty hand in the air, glancing back over his shoulder at the Behemoth as he pulled at MacCready’s arm, sending one of his shots wide as he tugged him to his feet.

‘C’mon, c’mon, we need to go! While it’s distracted!’

MacCready needed no persuasion, scrambled to his feet whilst the Behemoth tore the Protectron to shreds, the horrible screech of rending metal audible even over the storm. Filthy, brackish water kicked up the backs of their legs as they ran, half-blinded by the rain, slipping and sliding across the scrub grass and slick mud of the swamp the Common was rapidly turning into. MacCready’s ankle was screaming in pain now, sharp jolts stabbing up through his leg with every step, and he wasn’t sure whether the wet on his trousers was rainwater or the wound tearing open again.

Behind them, the Protectron gave way in an explosion of sparks, the robot burning out in a blaze beside the fountain where it had stood guard for centuries. Chiv glanced back over his shoulder, grabbed MacCready’s hand in his, picked up the pace until they were sprinting for their lives. MacCready gritted his teeth against the pain; he could hear the Behemoth behind them, hear the pounding of its feet as it gave chase, hear the fury in its roar. But they were nearly at the station; it couldn’t follow them in there, they could shelter, wait it out until it gave up, and if the tracks weren’t blocked off they could even follow them to safety…

They were metres from the station when MacCready’s ankle gave way, tearing a cry of pain from his throat and sending him sprawling through the mud and filth. Chiv stumbled beside him, pulled down by his vicegrip on his hand, yelping as he went down hard on one knee.

The Behemoth was upon them in an instant, the anchor smashing into the ground inches from Chiv’s head, only avoided by him contorting himself out of the way at the last possible moment in a bizarre dancing twist. MacCready was scrambling to his feet, hands sticking and sliding in the mud, knocked down again by the sheer force of the Behemoth’s blow. Chiv managed to get his shotgun in hand, pointed it directly at the Behemoth’s face as it ducked low, furiously squeezed the trigger; MacCready felt something spatter across his back and the Behemoth gave a horrible squeal of agony as it reeled backwards. He got to his feet, turned to see where Chiv was; and as the Behemoth staggered, blinded, its flailing anchor took him directly in the chest.

Not even a fully powered blow, just the wild thrash of the monster’s hand as the shotgun blast took it in the face, but it was enough to fling MacCready into the wall of the station. He slammed against the unforgiving brick, felt something snap, opened his mouth to scream but all the air was gone from his lungs. The Behemoth turned, and he saw its face; ripped open from Chiv’s shotgun, a horrorshow of gore, it met his eyes directly and even as it bled out he saw the depths of its rage. He heard Chiv yell in desperation, heard the shotgun again; but despite that it raised the anchor aloft once more, a roar bubbling from it’s torn mouth. Stunned and unable to move, MacCready squeezed his eyes shut and waited.

The station wall took some of the blow, sending a shower of brick and rubble down onto him, and vaguely he hoped that J6 hadn’t been standing on the other side of it; but then came the pain, and all other thoughts were shoved violently out of his head. His side was on fire, his head swimming; his left leg felt wrong _,_ somehow, and it took a great deal of effort to move his head to look down and see bone jutting from a tear in his trousers.

‘ _Oh,’_ he whispered - or at least, he thought he did. Everything was going blurry around the edges, his head feeling like one of those stupid Vault-Tec bobbleheads Chiv collected, wobbling on his neck as he tried to roll onto his stomach and crawl away before the Behemoth hit him again. Dimly he could hear Chiv screaming his name, hear gunfire; but the noise of the battle was fading in and out, the rushing roar of static filling MacCready’s ears, and vaguely he wondered why Chiv didn’t just turn the radio off; it was buzzing in his head, in his hands and feet, filling his mouth. No...that wasn’t static. That was blood. He turned, tried to spit it out, managed only to open his mouth and let it dribble out in a frighteningly bright red gush. He coughed, once, strings of spit and blood dripping from his chin, and the pain was unbearable. Something was stabbing him on the inside, everything feeling horribly _wrong._

In the distance, Chiv was yelling, his voice cracking.

‘Come on then, you fucker! Come and _fucking get some!’_

He tried to push himself up, but his left arm wouldn’t support his weight. Something _popped_ in his chest and he collapsed again, a helpless groan escaping his lips. The Behemoth was squealing again, and then there was an earth-shaking crash.

 _Hooray,_ he thought dreamily. _No more anchor._

 _Where’s Duncan?_ was his next thought.

And then, _did Princess close the gate to Murder Pass?_

Footsteps splashed over to him, and the smallest, most helpless gasp escaped Chiv’s lips as he stumbled, losing his footing, slipping on the blood and mud that streaked the grass. He crashed to his knees beside MacCready, grabbed his shoulder to turn him over, cursed as MacCready yelped breathlessly as his agony bloomed again.

‘ _RJ…_ oh, fuck, fuckfuckfuck what...your _arm,_ your…’ Chiv’s hands fluttered across his body, trying to fix everything at once, applying pressure to his leg before abandoning it to try and support his arm, before giving up on that and tugging open his jacket and shirt to pale at the sight of his ribs. He whimpered...actually _whimpered_ at the sight, and MacCready giggled weakly, a bubble of blood growing at the corner of his mouth and then bursting.

‘That bad?’ he tried to say, but the words were stuck in his throat, in his lungs, choking him. Chiv leaned back, went to pull his t-shirt over his head; then realised he had nothing to cut it with, their packs scattered by the fountain and the wreckage of the Protectron. They may as well have been miles away.

‘RJ, RJ, fuck...I gotta...hold on, hold on, I’m gonna be right back, I swear, don’t... _oh, my god,’_ he said, hands shaking and voice bordering on hysterical as he stood, left his side, footsteps frantic and tripping as he disappeared from MacCready’s dimming view. MacCready vaguely wondered where he was going; wasn’t there something dangerous out there? They’d been fighting something...hadn’t they? He stared up at the rain. The storm should be directly overhead by now, but the thunder seemed suddenly very distant...a dull booming in the back of his skull that beat in time with the pain.

He couldn’t feel his legs.

Hours later - or minutes, or moments, or even days, MacCready couldn’t tell - he heard voices approaching. Chiv’s was high, frightened; he’d never heard him sound like that before, made a vague mental note to take the piss at the first opportunity he got. The other voices he didn’t recognise. A woman, her tone strong and commanding; and a man, whose accent and persuasive lilt seemed oddly familiar.

‘...got the alert someone was on the Trail, that you had a synth…’

‘...took on a _Behemoth_ alone, boy am I glad you’re on our side…’

‘...know what’s in your pocket, Chivalry Arroyo, we know who you are and we want you to…’

‘...normally wouldn’t do this but you’ve got a synth and information, we’re willing to take you straight to HQ, need to know about that Courser…’

And above it all, Chiv’s voice, still high and panicked as he reached MacCready and unceremoniously jammed a stimpak between his ribs, directly over his heart.

‘I don’t give _one single shit_ about your Railroad or your rules, he’s _dying!_ Either help me or I’m throwing the goddamn chip in the pond!’

MacCready felt someone wrap something around around his arm, forced his eyes back open to lazily gaze down at the strip of Chiv’s t-shirt tied tight around his bicep in a makeshift tourniquet.

‘Gonna catch cold,’ he muttered, and then let his head drop back into the dirt, too exhausted to hold it up. Cold wet hands grabbed either side of his face and he slowly, oh so slowly cracked his eyes open again. Chiv’s face swam into view above him; and were those _tears?_

‘RJ, RJ, eyes on me baby, that’s it sweetheart...it’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be fine, they’re gonna take us to their base, they’ve got a doctor…come on, for fuck’s sake, _help him!_ Keep looking at me, that’s it, come on, stay with me...RJ, _please,_ don’t...don’t…’

For a moment, he thought it would be okay; the pain was bearable if he focused on Chiv’s dark grey eyes, the press of his cold hands on his face, one slipping down to lace their fingers together and roughly squeeze his hand. He could feel the stimpak starting to work, feel the extra adrenaline starting to push through his veins. Someone was working at his leg, the distinct prick of a needle digging into his thigh. But the thick grey fog in his head was crowding in around the edges, making it hard to focus, fuzzing his thoughts and making his tongue feel thick and heavy in his mouth. Chiv leaned in, wrapped his arms around his waist, and in confusion MacCready thought it was an embrace; but then he pulled, lifted, hauled him up into his arms. MacCready’s head span wildly, and he thought he was going to be sick with the pain. He let his head hang down onto his chest, rolling loosely against Chiv’s shoulder. His fingers twitched; _where was his hat?_ And suddenly it was the most important thing in the world to ask him, to remind Chiv not to leave it behind, to get one of these people to pick it up for him. He groaned, opened his mouth, tried to speak; but then the fog closed in completely, and as he fell into unconsciousness all he could manage was a soft moaning sigh that sounded almost like Duncan’s name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY (to ease your suffering lemme tell you we’re only about halfway through the story at this point, so…)
> 
> MacCready: Bitches and moans about having to help out the synth lad  
> Also MacCready: Immediately puts him first when danger strikes
> 
> You can find me (and yell at me) at [whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com!](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com/)


	10. Healing

For nearly four days, MacCready’s world was a blur of darkness and noise and pain, a nightmarish cycle of vague drifting consciousness that dipped in and out, leaving him suspended in a dream-state. At times, he’d hear voices; discussing compound fractures, dangerous doses of Med-X, infection. At other times he’d hear Ferals, see them running across the Boston Common towards him, herded by a huge featureless shadow that roared and bellowed and blocked out the sky. He’d see Chiv’s motionless body, crumpled and bleeding beneath the Concord water tower; Duncan coming in from the fields with a cough, the first darkening blue bruise of a plague-spot growing on his neck. He’d see harsh lights, cold stone, and a hand gripping his so tight his knuckles went white. Nothing was coherent, and MacCready couldn’t have told you what was real and what was fever-dream, too lost in his own mind as he hung somewhere between life and death.

The thread that held it all together, though, was the pain. A constant companion through waking and sleeping, it dug white-hot claws into his spine, his ribs, his head. Sometimes, when it got really bad, he could hear someone moaning aloud...but it was very far away. MacCready was trapped behind a thick fog, unable to do anything except ache and sweat and writhe subconsciously as his body fought to mend, helped along by constant needle-pricks and tightening bandages. Infection raged through his leg, the Raider’s filthy machete leaving a final parting gift.

For nearly four days, MacCready hung in the balance.

But with each day, the fog pushed back a little; this time he could flutter his eyelids, this time twitch his hand or whimper slurred nonsense. And slowly, the pain began to relinquish its vice grip on his body. Slowly, MacCready’s body turned the fight in his favor. He became aware first of someone’s hand in his hair, fingers working shakily through the short strands; then a low reassuring murmur in his ear, the whisper of breath across his face and the press of dry lips to his sweat-soaked forehead.

At half past eight in the morning on the fourth day, MacCready’s fever broke, and he cracked open one eye and grunted quietly at the sudden onslaught of bright light.

‘RJ?’

A dark shape loomed over him immediately, and he flinched away; but then something cool touched the side of his face, soothing and safe. MacCready forced his eye open further, the shape taking a more familiar form as his eyes adjusted to the light.

‘Hey,’ he croaked, voice hoarse with disuse, and above him Chiv let out a shaky sigh of relief, raising one hand to run raggedly through his dark hair. The other remained gently cupping the side of MacCready’s face, fingers cool as they trembled against his cheekbone.

‘Hey,’ he whispered back, and his voice sounded rough and low.

‘You look like shi- like crap,’ MacCready said, and he really did. The dark circles beneath his eyes were more prominent than they’d ever been, his skin pale and washed-out, the fresh gash on his cheek scabbed over and peeling. The bruises around his eye were fading to a sickly yellow, casting a pallor across his worried expression. MacCready frowned, trying to work out why Chiv’s face was upside-down; but then the other man shifted, gently sliding his legs out from beneath MacCready’s head where it had been cradled in his lap. He eased him down onto the thin mattress, then slipped to sit beside him.

‘You’re not looking so great yourself, hotshot.’ Chiv’s smile was strained and forced. ‘You’ve been out nearly four days. I thought... _fuck_ , RJ, I really thought…’ He trailed off, voice choking slightly. His hand made a twitching movement, and MacCready briefly hoped he was going to stroke his hair again. ‘How you feeling? You in pain?’

Good question. MacCready closed his eyes again, settling back and taking stock of his body. There was a dull ache in his ribs, a grinding sensation in his arm when he flexed it experimentally, and as he winced there was a sharp stabbing pain in the side of his head. From the knee down, his left leg felt numb, yet he could feel the heat radiating from it beneath the thin scrub blanket that covered him. He looked down, went to pull the covers back; and Chiv’s hand reached out to stop him.

‘It’s infected. Don’t...don’t look, cause it’s gross. Carrington says you’re gonna be fine in a few days, though.’

MacCready threw him a querying look, tried to speak, but managed only a dry-mouthed wordless whisper. Chiv blinked, then made a little _oh_ sound of realisation, pushing himself up and stepping carefully over MacCready to disappear behind him, his footsteps echoing oddly. MacCready listened to him clinking bottles for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. Stone, cracked and old; unfamiliar. Nowhere he’d been before, that was for sure. He was slowly growing aware of background noise, too; low murmuring voices, the quiet clacking of a terminal, the hiss of a lighter. Each small noise rang in his aching head, echoing and muffled. He frowned, but Chiv reappeared a moment later, food and water in his arms, and MacCready was suddenly struck with a desperate pang of thirst. He started to push himself up into a sitting position, favoring his good arm, and Chiv dropped the supplies instantly, reaching in to sling his arm over his shoulders and help him up.

‘Easy, hey, you ain’t healed right yet. You gotta be careful.’

MacCready closed his eyes briefly, allowing his head to drop forward, just short of resting on Chiv’s shoulder as he pulled him up as gently as he could. He breathed in deeply, once, letting the smell of gun oil and dirt and blood fill his nose...but then Chiv was gone again, sitting back on his haunches and passing MacCready a can of purified water, his grey eyes dark with barely-concealed worry. Feeling horribly helpless and weak, MacCready accepted the proffered can, mumbling an embarrassed _thanks_ into it as he cracked it open and drank. The water was stale, and lukewarm, but it was the best thing he’d ever tasted; better even than his first hot meal with the Gunners after months of eating trail jerky and hardtack.

He was extremely aware of Chiv’s eyes on him as he drank, watching his every movement, gaze guarded and wary and looking for any signs of pain or weakness. It felt horrible. Even worse, to know he’d been lying there nearly _four days,_ exposed and unaware and with a stranger’s hands on him, injecting and bandaging and cutting. He was shivering, arm trembling as it held the can to his lips; tried to conceal it with a cough, but that just sent a bolt of pain through his ribs. To distract himself, he finally took stock of his surroundings.

The same ancient stone was everywhere; the walls, the ceiling, the large stone block in front of him that formed the small alcove they were sitting in. He was on a mattress tucked in the corner, almost against the wall, just a small space beside him with a second blanket and, miraculously, his rifle. The sight of it relaxed him immensely, and his hand instinctively went to it, smoothing down the wood grain of the stock. It was leaning against the same thing he was, another huge block of stone; he shifted, turned, saw the jut of a lid above his head and a faded plaque carved into the side. It looked like a name, and a set of dates...

MacCready suddenly realised where they were.

It was a crypt.

And he was leaning on a coffin.

‘Damn, was I really that bad?’

Chiv tilted his head, confused; then laughed, clapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound straight after.

‘Yeah, thought I’d forgo the doctor, just bring you straight here and get dibs on the best coffin. Save me the caps.’ He laughed again, but it was shorter, and there was a brief flash of pained guilt in his eyes. ‘In all seriousness, though...this is the basement of the Old North Church. MacCready, welcome to Railroad HQ.’

MacCready’s mouth crooked open in surprise, questions piling up in the back of his throat; but instead, his jaw cracked into a huge yawn, his eyes squeezing shut and his body starting to tremble as he slumped back against the coffin. Even a few brief moments of conversation had drained what little energy he had, his ribs starting to ache painfully from the position and his head spinning lightly with the effort of keeping himself upright and awake. Chiv moved immediately, hands gentle around his bandaged torso as he eased him back down onto the mattress, shushing him awkwardly.

‘Hey, uh...look, just try and get some sleep, okay? You gotta get your strength back, man, I need you out there.’ He grinned. ‘And I guess I should go clean up now I know you’re okay. Doc Carrington’s been on my ass for days to leave you alone and take care of myself.’

 _You’ve been here for days?_ thought MacCready, but all he managed was a low mumble. The pain in his head was getting worse, his ribs aching with each breath. He sighed against the mattress, a tired frown creasing his brows as he shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t press on his injuries. He felt as though he was sinking, being pulled slowly downwards as he rolled carefully onto his side, facing the wall. He heard Chiv move, begin to stand...and reached out a tired hand to grasp his wrist, glancing up at him with pleading eyes.

‘Stay?’ he breathed, so quiet he wasn’t sure if he’d said it aloud. But after a moment’s hesitation, Chiv sank back down again, settling beside him with his back set comfortably to the wall. MacCready’s grasp slipped loosely from his wrist, and Chiv reached down to wind their fingers together instead.

‘’Course,’ he whispered back. ‘I’m here, RJ. Go to sleep.’

MacCready hummed in response, shifted closer so his forehead pressed against Chiv’s thigh. His jeans were rough, but he was warm, and the thumb gently circling on the back of his hand was enough to finally allow his eyes to slip shut and his breath to fall into a deep, slow rhythm.

‘I’m here,’ whispered Chiv again, but MacCready had slipped into the exhausted sleep of healing, and neither heard him nor caught the glitter of tears in his dark eyes as he tipped his head back to stare up at the cracked stone ceiling. ‘I’m here.’

 

***

 

Time lost all meaning again as for the next few days MacCready drifted between sleeping and waking, slowly regaining his strength. True to his word, Chiv was there every time he awoke; wincing sympathetically when the doctor, a curt and standoffish man named Carrington, drew blood or injected him with antibiotics or painkillers; plying him with cans of water, letting him play the holotape games on his Pip-Boy. But he seemed quieter than usual, lacking in his usual sarcastic tone and awful jokes, even when MacCready had the energy to try and hold a sustained conversation. And in the times when MacCready hung on the edge of sleep, the pain and discomfort and heat of his infection and injuries keeping him from slipping entirely over the edge, Chiv would quietly rise from his side and disappear.

One such night, sharp shooting pains in his slowly mending ribcage preventing him from finally crossing the boundary into restful sleep, footsteps approached them. He tensed, but heard Chiv rise to his feet and stand between him and the approaching sound; whether the intention was to guard him or not, it allowed his body to relax again slightly. Facing the wall, and with eyelids too heavy to drag open again, all he could do was listen as a naggingly familiar voice, warm and drawling, spoke softly behind him.

‘He awake?’

Chiv’s voice, low and hushed.

‘Was.’

‘Good. I have a favor to ask.’

Chiv scoffed.

‘A _favor?_ We brought you a Courser chip. Got you a back door straight into the Institute. And saved a synth from Raiders on the way. There’s your favor, pal.’

‘Hey, now. Listen, I told you about Des’ plans. You, a tourist, honestly. What a waste. Look, I got this job lined up, but it’s too big for me alone. You do this little favor for me, Des will see your worth, you’ll be welcomed into the fold with open arms...and then we can talk more about how we can help each other out with _bigger problems_. Comprende, amigo?’

‘I don’t care about...I can’t leave him now,’ Chiv hissed, and MacCready felt a little tug in his chest. ‘I can’t...what if something happens?’

‘Don’t let Carrington hear you doubt him like that. He’ll be slipping Tom’s anti-Institute concoction into your morning coffee at the first opportunity.’ The other man laughed, light and airy. ‘Look, the kid’s gonna be fine. He’s a tough cookie. And it should only take us a day there and back. No problemo, right?’ A pause. ‘And besides, it’ll butter Des up. You know she’s already antsy about having a mercenary in our midst.’

There was a long silence, in which MacCready concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and not the anger slowly threading through his veins. So this was where Chiv had been disappearing to. Made sense, of course; he’d walked into the Railroad with a Courser chip, of course they were going to want to interrogate him; and he was tough, they’d watched him take down a Behemoth, obviously they’d want him on their side.

But it sounded like MacCready wasn’t a part of the deal.

Finally, Chiv spoke, voice low and grudging.

‘...what’s the job?’

‘Up front, all I’m gonna say is that it’s gonna be a wild and dangerous ride.’ MacCready could almost hear the grin in the other man’s voice. ‘But...I’m betting that’s nothing new for someone like you.’

He heard Chiv shift, and clenched his hand into a fist, knowing exactly how his face would look; the spark of interest flashing unbidden in his grey eyes, the slight lift of the scarred corner of his mouth to show the eager gleam of his teeth. Wild and dangerous. And, to Chiv, irresistible. But…

‘And what happens to him whilst I’m gone, huh? Des gonna drive that wedge in even further? She’s already banned me from telling him anything you’ve got going on. If I ain’t here...it’s a joke.’

The other voice sighed lightly.

‘Des is just being cautious. We know who he is. Who he used to run with. We don’t know if he can be trusted.’

Once again, his reputation preceded him. _Fucking_ Gunners. He wished he’d signed his name on the freeway in Winlock’s blood. _That’d prove my fu...my freaking point_ , he spat viciously.

‘I trust him,’ said Chiv immediately, and MacCready’s heart squeezed beneath his aching ribs. ‘I trust him with my life.’

‘That’s all well and good, my friend, but you aren’t one of us yet either. And you said it yourself, he’s your hired gun. What happens when the job ends? What happens when his next employer starts asking questions? We can’t take that risk.’

‘It’s…’ Chiv’s voice faltered, grew quieter, and MacCready had to strain to hear. ‘It’s not like that. He’s not...I mean, yeah, I hired him, but…’

He trailed off, and there was another round of silence. He heard Chiv pull his cigarettes from his pocket, heard the click of his lighter, caught the sharp scent of smoke on the air a moment later. When he finally spoke, it was the words MacCready had been dreading.

‘...alright. Long as it’s only a day job.’

‘Perfecto.’ MacCready gritted his teeth, then winced at the bolt of pain that stabbed through his skull. He could _hear_ the smugness in the stranger’s voice, hear the triumph at his victory. But worse than that was the panic rising in his own chest. He tried to shove it down, disgusted. Jeez, he was a big boy; could handle himself, even wounded as he was, and he’d been on his own long enough before this. But knowing Chiv was walking back out into danger so soon, without MacCready’s rifle and sharp eye at his back…and knowing he was being left alone, injured and vulnerable in a place full of people who very clearly did not want him there...

MacCready swallowed hard, pushed his face into the mattress and tried to force his body to finally let him sleep. The two voices were growing quieter, moving away, footsteps echoing off the cold stone as they left him. Alone and helpless. Injured and useless. Pathetic. He fought back the wave of self-hatred, telling himself Chiv would be fine, and the quicker he healed the quicker he could get back out there.

But the hardest thing to swallow was the stranger’s heavy implication that Chiv _had_ to go...because of MacCready.

 

***

 

Thankfully true to his word, Chiv was back within a day, fresh bruises blooming across his eye socket which Doctor Carrington tutted at as he changed MacCready’s bandages. But the next morning, he was gone again, and the day after that was the same. MacCready’s unease grew with each casual goodbye, each time he returned with a new gash on his forehead or suspiciously sharp fingermark bruises on his arm. Chiv - or _Agent Wanderer_ , as the Railroad had taken to calling him, making MacCready roll his eyes every time - was quickly becoming the darling of the organisation, but MacCready didn’t find it quite so endearing. It was just more ammunition for the Institute to bring back down upon them, each mission he completed for them another chance for a Courser or two to finally take him down. The Railroad were known to them; very well known, if what he’d managed to glean from snatches of overheard conversation were true. This hadn’t always been their home. There’d been a raid, not long ago, and most of their best agents had been wiped out. MacCready shivered lightly when he thought about it. What would happen when they inevitably found the new HQ? When ‘Wanderer’ was the new best agent? Neither of them were invincible. The events of the past couple weeks had proven that more than once.

The worst part, though, wasn’t the worry. It wasn’t the pain and the weakness that still trailed its final lasting grip on his body. It was being left alone, isolated and shunned by the stream of Agents and tourists who flowed through the old crypt. Chiv was in and out constantly, never staying for longer than a day; and whilst when he was there, he stayed glued to MacCready’s side, it was never private, never a chance for proper conversation. He knew it was intentional, that Desdemona was purposefully keeping Agents in close proximity to the pair so that no crucial information got passed back to MacCready; Chiv was having to be deliberately vague about exactly what it was he was doing, always seeming to be interrupted just as he was about to divulge real details. The constant talk of synths and spies and secrets was putting MacCready on edge; he was a mercenary, a fighter, not made for covert underground operations like this. He was supposed to be up high, atop a roof or a building, rifle in hand and target in sight. Being trapped underground like this was driving him stir-crazy.

During the day, the Railroad agents were giving him a wide berth, and that he could somewhat understand; their operation relied on secrecy after all, giving away their identities to the stranger in the sickbay was probably very high on their lists of _things-to-avoid._ But Desdemona, the boss lady, was actively cold-shouldering him, and the rest of the main crew were following suit. Carrington was the only one speaking to him, and that was only out of necessity; he’d seen the man sweeping documents out of the way when MacCready approached, conversations cutting short as he limped by. MacCready was torn between anger and desperation to prove himself, and the atmosphere was growing more and more tense by the hour.

Things came to a head a few days later. Chiv was out yet again, and had been gone longer than he said he would; almost a whole day late, at this point. MacCready was pacing, stretching out the aching muscles in his leg, limping back and forth and trying not to let his mind stray to what could be happening on the surface. Was Chiv already lying dead somewhere, an Institute laser-shot smoking in his forehead? Had they taken him, dragged him off to slice him up and replace him and send a fake back to kill them all? MacCready was jittery, antsy, his hands twitching and clenching into fists as he walked. His strength was returning slowly but surely, but still nowhere near fast enough, and it was only adding to his foul mood.

Desdemona was holding a meeting around the central table. MacCready caught their surreptitious glances every time he limped past, the way they shuffled together a little to block his view, just in case. It was infuriating. Why hold a meeting in the _middle of the goddamn room_ if you didn’t want your shi...your stuff to be seen?! He ground his teeth, freezing as a particularly bad bolt of pain lanced up through his healing ankle, gripping onto a low wall to steady himself. As he ducked his head, he caught Desdemona’s next words.

‘...get us more on Rivet City, need to know what’s going on since the Brotherhood…?’

MacCready stayed where he was, but his gaze lifted to the table. One of their agents, an older weary-looking woman with a half-shaved head and clad in travelling gear, was nodding reluctantly. So, they needed information on D.C? Well. That was certainly a topic MacCready knew well enough about. Maybe this was a chance for him to prove he wasn’t just an untrustworthy burden in their midst. That he could be just as useful as Chiv.

‘Hey, I can tell you about Rivet City.’

There was a pause, the conversation falling silent around the table. Desdemona looked over, glanced him up and down. No one spoke. MacCready cleared his throat awkwardly.

‘I, uh...you know the Brotherhood needed a reactor for their airship? They swapped it out with the one in Rivet City. Didn’t exactly ask nice, so they’ve got a power…’

‘Thank you, but we know that,’ Desdemona interrupted, and turned back to the meeting. MacCready stood for a moment, anger slowly bubbling up in his stomach. The heck was their problem?

‘Well what else do you wanna know?’

His voice came out louder than intended, more aggressive, but still a few of the agents looked interested. One opened their mouth to speak, but Desdemona cut them off again, holding up a hand to stop them.

‘We have an agent who has more reliable intelligence on the Capital Wasteland,’ Desdemona said shortly. ‘With all due respect, we can’t trust your word.’

 _‘All due respect_ my ass,’ MacCready snapped, hating how childish it sounded as soon as it left his lips. ‘I was there a couple months ago. I _grew up_ there with the Brotherhood looming over me. I can tell you what it’s like on the ground, what the people are thinking, where the resistance is and who they’ve got in their pockets.’ Silence. ‘Come on, I can help you out!’

Desdemona sighed finally, leaning her hands heavily on the table. MacCready caught the careful place of her palms over red marks on the map. Still hiding things.

‘Mr MacCready, I am going to be blunt. You are a mercenary. You sell your gun to the highest bidder. _Whoever_ that may be. We don’t know who you’ll be working for weeks, months down the line. We just can’t afford to trust you.’

MacCready felt like he’d been slapped in the face.

‘I don’t...I’m not going to...is that it? You’ve been cold-shouldering me just because I get paid for my work?!’ He threw his hands up in anger, wobbled, had to grab the edge of a coffin for support, gritting his teeth in embarrassment at the show of weakness. ‘Your beloved _Agent Wanderer_ is my boss _,_ if you hadn’t noticed!’

‘He’s a bit more than that, I think,’ one of the agents muttered drily. MacCready’s hands clenched into fists.

‘And just what the fuck is…!’

A hand clapped down on his shoulder suddenly, and he turned with teeth bared; but it was Doctor Carrington, face impassive and brows lowered, and he sheathed his claws, figuring it was probably best not to act _too_ aggressive with the man in charge of your wellbeing.

‘My patient needs to rest, thank you,’ Carrington said curtly, and after a moment of resistance MacCready allowed him to steer him away, grip like iron on his shoulder. Carrington lead him back to the makeshift medbay, pushing him down onto the mattress and passing him a bowl of lukewarm razorgrain noodles. ‘Eat this.’

Away from the main group, whose stares he could still feel boring into the back of his head, MacCready let his anger seethe.

‘How...how _dare_ they...I’m not gonna...Chiv’s my…’

Carrington sighed deeply through his nose.

‘Agent Wanderer is your boss, yes. For now. What happens in the future?’ He tapped the bowl again. ‘Eat, please.’

‘He’s not my...not just…’ MacCready felt the bridge of his nose burning red, fumbling for an explanation. ‘We’re...we’re partners. I’m not about to go selling all his secrets like some...some...’ He trailed off, too angry to speak. Inwardly, though, he was praying what he said was true. Sure, once he was awake and walking and recovering he hadn’t expected Chiv to stay by his side the entire time. And he knew the isolation wasn’t Chiv’s fault. But...he sighed, reached for the food. He felt so _abandoned._ Chiv was in and out, always accompanied by one Railroad agent or another, running missions and clearing the way for runaway synths; _synths,_ of all things, the Institute’s goddamn lackeys! And whilst he lapped up the glory, the whole of HQ doting over his every move, MacCready got to sit in a corner and be shunned by everyone.

 _Beloved Agent Wanderer,_ MacCready thought bitterly as he picked at his food.

Carrington returned, needle in hand, brimming with the final dose of antibiotics. Unseen by MacCready, his expression softened a little as he crouched down by the younger man.

‘You know, he didn’t leave your side for the first two days,’ said Carrington in an off-handed, far-too-casual manner. ‘We practically had to force him to go and eat. When Deacon told him he had to start running jobs with him, and leave you behind to recover, they nearly threw punches.’

MacCready scowled.

‘Yeah, cause you _made_ him leave me.’

‘Yes.’ Carrington slid the needle smoothly into the crook of MacCready’s arm, and he turned his head away, swallowing thickly. ‘It was Desdemona’s decision, and it was the right one. We couldn’t afford to have you both here using up resources and not helping our cause. We’re stretched thin after...the extra pair of hands was necessary. I assured them it certainly made no difference to your recovery whether he was here or not. Better to have one of you doing what you could, than both of you sitting here going stir-crazy.’

MacCready could hear the truth in his words, and he hated it.

‘What if something had happened? _Does_ happen?’ he snapped. ‘To me or to him? Then what?’

Carrington gave him a long-suffering look.

‘I’m a doctor, Mr MacCready, I knew you were past the worst of it. And he certainly seems as though he can handle himself. Glory told us how he took down the Behemoth after it took you out.’ Seeing MacCready’s mouth open to argue, he continued, tone grudging. ‘Not that you couldn’t have done the same. I’m just saying. He’s a capable man. He’s proving to be a great asset to us.’

‘He _isn’t_ capable,’ MacCready grumbled. ‘That’s why he’s got me. I should be out there with him.’

Carrington looked up from where he was examining the almost-healed gash on MacCready’s leg.

‘And you’re going to help him in this state, are you?’

MacCready seethed silently, hating the logic at every turn, stabbing his noodles with more ferocity than necessary as he ate. Carrington made a few more notes on his clipboard, looking satisfied.

‘Well we aren’t staying,’ MacCready muttered finally, shoving the empty bowl to one side. ‘You got your Courser chip, right? And you’re all getting enough grunt work out of Chiv. Clearly none of you want me here. Soon as I’m good, we’re out.’

‘There’s gratitude,’ said Carrington drily. ‘I think you’d better discuss that with _Wanderer.’_ MacCready caught the extra emphasis on the code name, rolled his eyes even as he felt the tips of his ears heat up at the mistake.

‘Whatever,’ he muttered, but deep down he knew what Carrington said was true. The Railroad were helping them just as much, decoding the Courser chip and gleaning as much information from it as they could. Chiv had been deep in discussion with Desdemona and Tinker Tom, too, and though he hadn’t had a chance to explain exactly what was going on to MacCready, from the sparkle in his eyes it was something big. Carrington nodded at him, satisfied, and stood.

‘Talk to him when he comes back. Make no mistake, I have no vested interest either way. I’d sooner you were both gone. But I think you’re in a little deeper than you realise.’ He shot MacCready a meaningful look before gathering up his clipboard and the empty bowl and moving away. The meeting was over, the Agents dispersing for the night. MacCready frowned, glancing up at the dimming light lancing in through the back entrance. Evening again. Still no Chiv.

I’ll talk to him alright, Carrington, he thought.

When he finally comes back.

 

***

 

MacCready jolted awake from uneasy sleep to total darkness, and a hand on his neck.

He lashed out immediately, catching his assailant in the chest and pushing them back, reaching frantically for his rifle; but then they gripped his arm, moved in close, and he caught the familiar scent of gun oil and home.

‘Shh, it’s me,’ came a low hiss, and he relaxed, pushing himself up into a sitting position against the wall.

‘Wh’time’sit?’ he slurred, rubbing blearily at his eyes. Chiv’s Pip-Boy lit up briefly, casting his face in a green glow and making MacCready squint. There was a new bruise on his forehead, a cut on his lip, the huge dark shadows under his eyes emphasised by the harsh lighting.

‘It’s, uh...just gone half four. Jeez, did you have to hit me so hard?’

MacCready glared at Chiv’s blurry outline as he moved to sit beside him, dimming the Pip-Boy’s flashlight and setting it between them so they had a little glow of light to see by.

‘You grabbed my throat, you idiot, what did you think I was gonna do? And where the fu... _heck_ have you been? You were supposed to be back yesterday!’

Chiv leaned over him, crowding his space, reaching for MacCready’s jacket and pulling out the sweets he knew were stashed in an inside pocket.

‘Job got heavy,’ he mumbled around a mouthful of gum drops. ‘Ran into some trouble. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle,’ he added, seeing the reproachful look in MacCready’s eyes. ‘’M fine. Man, I’m starving though. Want one?’ He held out the pack of sweets and MacCready took one, glaring at him.

‘I was worried,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s not been fun, y’know, sat here doing fu...doing heck all day in and day out. Getting the cold shoulder from everyone because of who I am. Listening to all the stories of _Wanderer_ and his daring deeds.’

It came out harsher than he’d intended, and Chiv went quiet. MacCready said nothing, but a tiny thread of guilt worked briefly up his spine. It wasn’t Chiv’s fault, not really. He’d thought it would feel good taking out his frustrations on him, but...he just felt annoyed at himself. They sat in silence for a while, Chiv dropping the rest of the sweets to the mattress, appetite apparently gone. MacCready didn’t feel much like eating them either. The sickly cloying taste was thick in his mouth.

‘Oh,’ Chiv muttered suddenly, and reached for his pack. ‘I’ve still got your hat.’

MacCready felt his heart light up, alongside another jolt of guilt. Chiv must have been having just as bad a time of it as he had. He’d been safe and sound in HQ, tucked away with food and water and a bed, whilst he’d been out there fighting. As Chiv leaned closer to the light to see inside his pack, MacCready caught the shine of barely dried blood on his arm, his shoulder, staining the neck of his t-shirt. Jeez, and he’d been moaning about being shunned and ignored by a bunch of do-gooders he didn’t want to help anyway? He suddenly felt very childish. Chiv had been facing the Institute, his hand forced by the Railroad, and he’d been doing it alone. MacCready took the hat from his hands as he passed it to him, brushing their fingers together in a silent apology.

‘Why was it still in your pack? You’ve had it with you this long?’

Chiv’s face coloured slightly, a light flush pinking his cheeks beneath the scab and scars.

‘Musta forgot it was in there,’ he mumbled, staring determinedly at a hole in the blanket. He cleared his throat. MacCready turned his cap over in his hands, a slight smile picking up the corner of his mouth. There was a new scuff on the brim, a bit of dried mud and blood on the inside which he picked at absently.

‘Why d’you have those?’

He glanced up, confused; Chiv was still looking at the hat, and at his querying look reached over to smooth a finger over the twin bullets tucked into the band. MacCready watched him for a moment.

‘One for me and one for Duncan. In case we ever got stuck in a bad situation again, like in the metro. I’d rather us both die by my hand than...than go out like Lucy did.’

‘...oh.’

They sat quietly again for a while, MacCready knocking the dried dirt and dust from his cap before setting it carefully down beside him; but this time it wasn’t as tense. Chiv shifted slightly, inching closer, leaning their shoulders together. MacCready felt the little tremble of his arm as he did so, caught the hitch in his breath, realised how badly Chiv needed the contact. How badly _he_ needed it. He opened his mouth to say something - what, exactly, he hadn’t quite worked out yet - but Chiv got there first.

‘I guess I owe you an apology,’ he muttered at the blanket. MacCready paused, then gave a little incredulous laugh.

‘You, apologising? What, the Institute get you? Where’s the real Chiv?’

Chiv winced at the bitter tone that MacCready couldn’t quite hide from his voice.

‘That’s not funny, RJ. I mean it. I’ve...been being really fuckin’ stupid,’ he said, and sighed. ‘I’ve not been taking this seriously. Any of...this,’ he added, waving a hand expansively. ‘I didn’t care if I got shot and killed or whatever cause honestly, who am I? Just some asshole kid from two hundred years ago. But it’s not just me any more, is it? I got people relying on me now. I got...I got you.’

MacCready didn’t miss the way Chiv’s voice roughened slightly on the last word. He cleared his throat to try and hide it.

‘People relying on me, people who’ve wasted their time on me, and I’ve been throwing it away. Acting like an idiot. I nearly…’ He sighed harshly, tipped his head back to thump against the stone. ‘I nearly got you killed. Twice. In one fuckin’ day. Jesus, MacCready, seeing you lying there like that...I’ve never felt like that before. That rage, sickness...I felt so goddamn cold. I was sure…’

MacCready moved first, reached over and grabbed the hand that lay trembling on his thigh. Chiv glanced down, then closed his eyes, squeezing his fingers tightly.

‘I lived, didn’t I? Like a big dumb Behemoth’s gonna take me out.’

Chiv didn’t laugh.

‘I just...I dragged you into danger, I got you hurt, and then I brought you here and pretty much abandoned you. I told you, this is what I do. I fuck things up. I just figured I oughta try and apologise for the latest fuckin’ mess.’ He ran his free hand roughly through his hair. ‘Not that an apology makes up for it.’

MacCready sighed, shuffled awkwardly on the mattress to get closer still, tucking his good leg beneath Chiv’s.

‘Look. You’re not...I mean yeah, you’re an asshole, you’re right about that.’ That finally drew a short huff of laughter from Chiv. ‘And yeah, I got hurt. But it wasn’t your fault. And it’s not your fault the Railroad’ve had you doing all this stuff. You gotta stop thinking about the past. You’re not that kid from two centuries ago any more. You say you fuck...you mess things up but heck, look at what you’ve done. You’ve helped the Minutemen get back on their feet, you saved Nick Valentine, now you’re helping the Railroad. You’ve done good out here, Chiv. You could have...I dunno, come out of that Vault and been a Raider, or an addict, or a murderer...you could’ve been anything, but you chose to be Chiv.’ He shrugged. ‘And...for what’s it worth, I’m really glad you did.’

Chiv threw him a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

‘It’s just hard to reconcile who I was then with who I am now, y’know? I was a low-life piece of shit, a petty criminal. I didn’t know jack about how the world worked, thought I was this real tough guy stealing and fighting and getting involved in all kinds of stupid bullshit. Now I’ve got all these people looking up to me, looking to me for help. Hell, half of Diamond City thinks I’m some kind of tragic hero looking for a lost child after Piper’s damn article. But I’m not any of that, RJ.’

‘No, you’re not,’ said MacCready simply, and Chiv looked at him. ‘But you think I’d tag along with some goody-two-shoes, helping people for free out of the _goodness of our hearts?_ That’s not how the world works anymore. If it ever did at all. ‘Sides, it’d be boring without you.’

Chiv chuckled, and then clapped a hand over his mouth to smother the noise. MacCready grinned back at him.

‘And hey, it could be worse. You could’ve joined the Brotherhood.’

‘Would you still have stuck around if I had?’

MacCready caught the little sideways glance, the way Chiv’s smile shrank just the tiniest bit. He let his eyes slip to half-mast, leaning his head back against the stone, mirroring Chiv’s pose.

‘Reckon so. I meant it when I said I’d pay you back, even if it took me the rest of my life. So, yeah. Though I’d have been pissed if you’d made me wear the jumpsuit.’

Chiv’s hand had left his, slipped instead to his thigh, fingers gently smoothing across the rough fabric of his trousers. MacCready watched the movement for a moment, before sliding his gaze up to Chiv’s face. Even in the dim light of the Pip-Boy, he could see the guarded, pained glaze in his eyes, and something tightened in his chest.

‘Chiv, listen to me. I’m with you now. For anything. You understand? Anything.’ He leaned forward, touched their foreheads together. Their breath mingled warm in the small space left between them. MacCready’s heart was jittering beneath his battered ribs.

‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ whispered Chiv, but kissed him anyway. MacCready let his eyes slip shut, pressing back into the other man, letting a low sigh of content rumble in his chest. Chiv pulled away after far too short a time, starting to lean back, guilt plastered on his face; but MacCready growled, grabbed the back of his head and dragged him back in again, harder and harsher than before. All the frustrations of the week, all the pent-up nervous energy from being trapped underground; he needed this, needed to feel the reassurance of Chiv against him. Chiv’s teeth nipped at his lower lip and he gasped lightly into the kiss, mouth opening just enough for Chiv to gain entry, the press of his tongue hot and slick against MacCready’s own. Chiv groaned lightly, deep in the back of his throat, and shifted closer; one hand trailing up to tug gently at MacCready’s hair, the other twitching on his thigh, fingers digging into his flesh. The position was awkward, uncomfortable, both men twisted around from where they sat against the wall; so, naturally, MacCready slid his leg further beneath Chiv’s and dropped himself carefully down to the mattress, leaning back on one elbow, the other still playing with the shorthairs on the back of Chiv’s neck. He glanced up at him, cocked one eyebrow, silently inviting...or challenging.

The fire that alit in Chiv’s eyes when he did so was not something he’d expected, but shit, he’d take it any day.

Chiv took the challenge immediately, leaning down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss, seizing the chance when MacCready moaned in surprise to press his tongue into his mouth again with a slick noise that made MacCready’s heart miss out on a few beats. Chiv shifted his legs round, pushing MacCready’s apart to settle himself firmly between them, just shy of contact; and he knew exactly what he was doing, _freaking tease,_ thought MacCready. Their kissing was getting messier by the second, mouths missing their targets and trailing across cheeks, chins, necks; parting for a moment to gasp for air or groan against each other’s lips before crashing hard together again. MacCready tried to shift closer, press their hips together, but Chiv just grinned against his mouth and slipped one hand up beneath his t-shirt to run lightly over MacCready’s hipbones. MacCready whined in desperation, panting into the kiss, dug his nails into Chiv’s shoulder, his arm. Chiv’s hand pushed his t-shirt up further, palm gliding up the lean line of his belly to press against his chest -

MacCready yelped in pain, arched his back, and Chiv snapped away like he’d been burned.

‘You okay? I’m sorry, fuck, I forgot…’

‘It’s fine,’ MacCready growled, voice low and hoarse with need, and reached up to grip the front of his t-shirt. ‘Just...god, just…’

He couldn’t explain what _just_ he meant, exactly, couldn’t have put it into words; but when Chiv leaned down over him again with a growl, _finally_ pressed their hips together and sank his teeth hard into MacCready’s lip, he thought; _yeah, that’s it._ A whole-body shiver broke from the top of his head all the way down to his toes, curling and digging into the mattress as he pulled Chiv down again, mouth open, panting and sloppy and messy and groaning. He could feel Chiv hard against him, threw his head back and rolled his hips, whining deep in the back of his throat as -

‘Why, Agent Wanderer,’ came the faux-shocked gasp, and both men jumped like they’d been shot. MacCready shoved Chiv roughly off of him, face flushing a deep red as they both cricked their necks looking round, suddenly remembering where they were. A grinning man stood before them dressed in inconspicuous Wastelander gear. Pushing himself up to sit against the wall, MacCready took in the scrappy pipe pistol tucked into his belt, the dark hair that looked suspiciously neat, the sunglasses hiding his eyes...and a lilting West-Coast accent that made MacCready’s eyes widen and his jaw slack open in accusation, even as he fought to get his breathing back under control.

‘You!’

‘Me.’ The man winked at him. ‘Couldn’t forget this beautiful face, huh?’

Chiv rolled his eyes, a gesture somewhat ruined by the deep flush across his face and the awkward way in which he brought one leg up in an extremely obvious attempt to hide himself.

‘RJ, this is Deacon. He’s been trailing us for a while. It was him watching Red Rocket that day, remember? And he...um…’ He cleared his throat, grinned sheepishly at MacCready. ‘He was in Goodneighbor the other night, too.’

‘Oh? I... _oh_.’

A brief memory of their hotel-room neighbor hammering on the wall. Deacon’s shit-eating grin grew even wider and MacCready felt his face flare up with heat, made only worse by Deacon’s next words.

‘Actually...we’ve met before that. I interrupted him mid-stream behind a diner a few weeks back as a caravan guard.’ He pulled an exaggerated sad face at Chiv. ‘You think I’ve ruined my chances at a friendly first impression?’

MacCready didn’t think he could hate the man any more than he did right now, but before he could regain enough brainpower to make a snappy remark, the other man cut him off.

‘It’s Tom,’ said Deacon. ‘He’s cracked the plans. We’ve sent a team to Sanctuary to get started. Everything’s ready.’

Chiv’s whole body tensed, previous activities forgotten in an instant. MacCready looked up, confused.

‘We’re...we’re ready to go?’

‘Exactamundo.’

MacCready had no idea what was going on, but he could sense the sudden change in atmosphere, the tension an almost physical thing between the three men. Chiv’s jaw was set, mouth a firm line as he raise his chin defiantly; and despite himself, MacCready felt a little surge in his chest. Chiv would explain, once they were out of earshot of the Railroad; that much MacCready was dead sure of, whether he had to twist his arm over it or not.

But much more importantly than all their Railroad bullshit and plotting and secrecy was the way Chiv nodded firmly, turned to him with the fire of adventure back in those dark grey eyes, and said the words MacCready had been longing to hear from day one in this stupid, dusty old crypt.

‘You ready to go home, RJ?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hat survived! And shit is getting real.
> 
> I've now officially finished my degree!!!! Which means I can get back into a regular update schedule with this bad boy. I'm aiming for a fortnightly update, as the chapters are getting longer now we're into the thick of the plot. I'll figure out the best day for it (I'm updating this tonight because I'm impatient lmao). Check my tumblr (below) for updates, more content of Chiv and MacCready, and to send me asks or chat to me about headcanons and stuff!
> 
> Find me at [whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com!](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com/)


	11. Intercept

‘And this...this _thing_ they’re building, this interceptor. It’s gonna teleport you straight into the Institute’s lap?’

‘That’s the idea, yeah,’ said Chiv, tipping his head back to blow out a cloud of smoke, tugging the collar of his jacket up to shield his neck from the bite of the wind. ‘Tinker Tom says it’s gonna, uh...fuck, what was the word... _de-materialise_ me. And then put me back together again on the Institute’s end. Uses radio or somethin’, I dunno, he tried to explain but…’ he trailed off with a shrug and a small, uneasy grin. MacCready just stared at him, pace slowing slightly.

‘Isn’t that gonna...you know, really freakin’ hurt?’

‘Apparently not. It’s instant, Tom says. I won’t feel a thing. Just…’ he snapped his fingers. ‘And I’m there.’

‘Never could wrap my head around that sort of stuff,’ MacCready muttered. ‘Just sounds like it’s gonna kill you.’

Chiv laughed uncomfortably and took another long nervous drag of his cigarette.

‘Let’s hope not, eh?’

It was just past dusk, the sky painted with the last thick strokes of deep purples and blues; a fresh bruise, a ripe mutfruit. The first few stars were scattered across the canopy like spent casings on a long stake-out. MacCready didn’t think he’d ever seen it look so beautiful. Carrington had insisted they stay another three long, torturous days to ensure the antibiotics had kicked the last of the infection from MacCready’s system; MacCready had given serious thought to just slipping Med-X into his tea and tunneling out through the walls. But finally, _finally,_ he’d cleared him for travel, and MacCready had practically run for the exit without a second glance. The first deep draws of air hadn’t been...fresh, exactly, and they were probably laced with radiation and pollution and poison, but he was fairly sure anything would be better than the stale musty crap he’d been breathing down in the crypt all week.

The first few hours of the journey home had passed quickly and comfortably, MacCready revelling in being back outside, back in Chiv’s company, and most importantly back in the loop; Chiv talked rapidfire non-stop as he filled MacCready in on everything the Railroad had had him doing over the past week or so, blatantly disobeying Desdemona’s gag order in a way that gave MacCready a little bitter thrill of satisfaction.

But as happy as he was to be out of the dingy Railroad HQ, and as eager as he was to be back at Red Rocket...it wasn’t turning out to be that easy. Weakened from the severity of his injuries and the time spent recovering, the trek back up cross-country to Concord was slow going, MacCready developing a limp that grew more and more pronounced the further they walked. They’d left at dawn, and what should have been a steady day’s trek bringing them safely home for the early evening was stretching out into the night, both men growing colder and more tired as the hours wore on. They’d had to stop far more frequently than usual, too. MacCready had started out making elaborate excuses; _hey, let’s stop and check out this cabin, oh is that a chair? Guess I’ll just sit down whilst you search the cabinets_ ; _did your stomach rumble? Nah it definitely did, let’s stop and eat; oh is that a storm cloud? Guess we better stay put a little longer just in case._ But as the day wore on and the stops became more and more frequent they devolved into shorter and shorter justifications - a snapped _I’m thirsty_ or _I gotta pee -_ before Chiv finally gave a huge exasperated sigh and told him to just fuckin’ _ask_ if he needed a break, jeez.

And MacCready being MacCready, that had had exactly the opposite effect, and he’d stubbornly refused to stop since.

Now, they were on the home stretch, the last long hill-climb up from the Drumlin Diner crossroads; but MacCready was quickly reaching breaking point. Emotionally and physically exhausted, his leg was aching, his limp scuffing his foot along the floor every few minutes and sending sharp needles of pain all the way up to his hip. The day’s hike had drained every ounce of energy from his body, the evening was fast growing cold and dark, and he just wanted his bed and to have one night, _one night,_ where he could sleep through without having to think about the Institute or the Railroad or the thousand other things swirling in his mind.

And then Chiv drops the latest goddamn bombshell; tomorrow - _tomorrow_ , not even a day spare for them to rest and recuperate out of the claustrophobic Railroad HQ - he’s going straight into the heart of the Institute.

Alone.

‘Anyway, it’s whatever. Tom gets all that science crap, he knows what he’s doing. It’ll work out. Just hope you don’t get too bored without me.’

And as usual, all MacCready was getting was this stupid bravado attitude. And it was really, really starting to piss him off.

‘Jeez, you don’t need to sound so concerned,’ he snapped sarcastically, voice more bitter than he’d intended it to be. Chiv’s eyes narrowed, smoke wreathing his face as he tossed the spent cigarette end, leaving a trail of sparks as it bounced off the cracked concrete.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

MacCready rolled his eyes, lip curling in frustration.

‘You’re acting so indifferent about it all. You’re literally gonna be vaporised by a machine built by a man who thinks the Institute are putting spies in our _blood._ And on the off-chance it does actually work, and you do get inside, then you’re being dumped straight into the lap of the people who killed your...who stole…’ He swallowed awkwardly. ‘And you’re going in alone. This is an even stupider idea than the Glowing Sea, and look how that turned out for you. You could sound at least a little bit worried about what might happen.’

‘Aw, c’mon,’ said Chiv with an entirely humorless laugh, and MacCready grit his teeth in frustration. ‘S’fine. I’ll be fine. You know me.’

‘Yeah, I do know you, and that’s exactly why I’m worried!’ MacCready kicked at a loose chunk of asphalt, winced at the pain that lanced up from his ankle. ‘You don’t know what’s in there! No-one does. You’re acting like it’s all a big game. Didn’t you learn anything from the Behemoth? You have to take this seriously!’

‘I don’t think it’s a game,’ said Chiv, voice dropped low and blunt. ‘But I’m going in, and that’s that. We both knew this was always on the cards. Look, it ain’t like I’m going in there guns blazing. I’m gonna go in peacefully, scope it all out, see if I can find Shaun, and then…’

‘And then walk back out again?’ MacCready laughed bitterly. ‘Yeah, sure, they’re just gonna let you stroll on home with a wave and a cheery goodbye. I dragged you back from the Glowing Sea, but what happens if they don’t have the courtesy to drop your bleeding, stupid idiot body that close to home this time?’ He huffed out a harsh breath, and one hand fluttered to his ribs as a low burst of dull pain bloomed in his side. ‘And what’re you gonna do if you _do_ find him, huh? Have you thought about that at all? They went to all that effort to get him, they aren’t gonna just hand him over to you if you ask politely enough. That’s if you even get that far, likely they’ll just shoot you on sight, if the teleporter doesn’t vaporise you first.’

‘Thanks for the confidence boost, MacCready.’ Chiv’s face was dark, and he scrubbed one hand roughly through his hair in frustration. ‘Look, me n’ Tom have talked this through, he knows what he’s…’

‘I don’t _care_ what Tom says!’ MacCready stopped short, feet scraping in the dirt as he ground in his stance. ‘I don’t wanna hear anything more about the goddamn Railroad. This is about you! You can’t save my life and cure my son and kiss me and...and fuck me in a goddamn hotel room like some stupid cliche and then just throw yourself into the yao guai’s den like that without a second thought! You aren’t even gonna take me with you? It isn’t fair!’

‘I’m not...I didn’t…’ Chiv’s face twisted into a scowl as he came to a halt too, folding his arms heavily across his chest. ‘MacCready, the teleporter can only take one person, and I _have_ to do this. This is what everything’s been building up to, you knew that! What’s going on with...the stuff between...this isn’t just about me and you, is it? It’s about...it’s about Shaun. About Nate and...and Nora. And it’s about the Commonwealth. It’s about the synths, people’s freedom. This shit’s gotten bigger than us, MacCready, it’s gotten...’

‘Jeez, will you listen to yourself?!’ MacCready snapped. ‘ _It’s about the Commonwealth?_ Do you know how stupid you sound? You’re talking straight out of a comic book. That isn’t how life works, Chiv, you have to think about yourself and your family first! Always!’ He swallowed hard, forcing down the burning lump threatening to break in his throat. ‘Otherwise you...you lose everything!’

Chiv flinched at that, the scarred corner of his mouth twisting, reaching out one hand to touch his arm placatingly.

‘RJ, c’mon…’

‘Don’t _RJ_ me,’ he snarled, shoving Chiv’s hand away. ‘Stop trying to play the hero! The Commonwealth doesn’t care about you, so why should you care about it? The Commonwealth is shit, the Wasteland is shit, the whole...the whole _world_ is shit, look how fucking shit my life’s been! Look how yours has been since you got out that Vault!’ MacCready’s voice cracked, face screwing up in fury as the first hot tears started spilling down his cheeks, too far gone to care about the vicious curses slipping out thick and fast. Why couldn’t Chiv see how damn stupid he was being? There _had_ to be another way, this couldn’t be the only way in, they had to have a...a back door, a water supply, _something_ they could get a team together and go after! How could the Railroad agree to this, to send him to his death without a second thought for anyone but themselves? How could...how could _Chiv_ agree to this?

‘MacCready…’

‘You don’t owe anyone anything!' His voice rang loud in the empty street. 'The Railroad are just using you, the synths...that isn’t even your fight! It’s got nothing to do with you! And family or not, Nate and Nora have been dead two hundred years, they don’t give a crap whether you go after their kid or not. You don’t even know if he’s still alive!’

Chiv’s arms dropped to his sides, defeated.

‘I’m just trying to make things right, RJ. For the family I fucked up. You...I thought you understood,’ he muttered, but MacCready had turned away, knocking his cap off to run both hands through his hair in desperation, and didn’t see the shame in his eyes.

‘For fuck’s _sake!_ Things were finally starting to go good and now...now…’ A harsh sob broke his words, descending quickly into incoherence, voice rising higher and higher. ‘Now I’m gonna lose you, too, and I _cannot_ go through that again, Chiv, I can’t, I can’t do it, I _can’t!’_ He pushed past the other man roughly, a huge heavy sob wracking his bruised and broken chest as he stormed off down the road towards Concord and home. He was crying hard now, thick hot tears coursing down his face, half-blinding him as he limped as fast as he could through the winding streets, far beyond caring about dignity or danger. Fury trembled through his veins; fury at Chiv, at the world, but most of all at himself.

‘ _MacCready!’_

He closed his ears to Chiv’s shouts, and turned for home.

 

***

 

The forecourt door slid open with a squeak of rusted hinges, slammed shut again. Chiv’s footsteps faltered in the hallway, the other side of the thin scrap wall, and MacCready held his breath; but then he heard the quiet _shff_ of the flag curtain being pushed aside, and Chiv’s pack hitting the metal storage crates in his own room with a heavy bang.

Junkyard whined quietly, tucked her nose cold and wet beneath MacCready’s chin, and he curled tighter on his bed, his aching ribs pressed into the mattress as he lay on his side and gently stroked her soft ears. He could hear Chiv murmuring through the wall, hear him crooning quietly to Dogmeat as he clattered about repacking his bag for what lay ahead. MacCready squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forwards, burying his face in Junkyard’s neck. A coil of guilt had started to wind low and heavy in his gut, his fingers trembling with unreleased tension as they smoothed through the dog’s fur. The past few weeks had been too much, far too much; Gunners and synths and Raiders and Ferals and the Institute and the Railroad and the Brotherhood and Duncan and Chiv and danger and pain and it was all culminating in this - being left alone, again, useless and helpless as Chiv threw himself into danger for a bunch of strangers who would cheer him on and then just shrug and say ‘oh well’ if he died.

Which he likely would.

He sat up roughly, dislodging Junkyard who jumped back, startled, and then loped from the room with a disapproving glance back at him. MacCready scowled at her as she went. Great. One abandonment after the other. The tiny, scrappy family he’d managed to cobble together out here was falling apart around him and there was nothing, not one single thing he could do to prevent it from happening. Desdemona’s insinuations of his Gunners affiliation, the lack of contact from Daisy and the D.C caravans; even after everything he and Chiv had done, his past was looming up over him again, inescapable, leaving a sick feeling in his stomach and the taste of bile in his mouth. If history was repeating itself, then Chiv was going to die, torn apart and trapped underground and his body left to rot, and MacCready would be alone again, left with no choice than to return to the Capital Wasteland and watch his son die.

He ground his teeth, harshly shoving aside the sickening imagery in his head, the swirl of memory and premonition. He couldn’t believe that - couldn’t let himself believe that. They’d got the cure, he’d killed Winlock and Barnes, he’d made things right.

Which was what Chiv was trying to do, too. Right?

_You asshole, RJ._

He groaned, leaned forward and pressed his face into his hands, fingers tangling through his hair. The last embers of his anger were still smouldering, but the douse of cold reality had tamped the initial blaze, leaving only guilt and shame in its wake. He’d thought it was selfish; selfish of the Railroad to risk someone else’s life for their cause, selfish of Chiv to abandon him to chase after long-dead phantoms. Selfish, even, of Chiv to think he could tangle MacCready up this bad and then leave him out at the most dangerous moments, to sit at home like a good little boy and wait patiently for his return.

But it wasn’t selfish. It was self _less._ And that was why it hurt so bad.

Because, when it all came down to it, it was the only choice they could make.

‘ _Fuck!’_

He lashed out, slammed his fist into the wall beside his bed, bare knuckles splitting on the unforgiving concrete. He pulled his hand back with a whimper, cradling it against his chest, feeling the burn of tears threaten again at the back of his throat -

‘RJ…?’

He turned, and Chiv was in the doorway, eyes dark and wary, body lined with tension. He hesitated, opened his mouth to speak; but MacCready didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to hear the reasons and logic and apologies and promises. Instead, he strode the three swift paces over to the other man, seized the front of his shirt in both fists and dragged him in to clash teeth and lips together in a harsh kiss. He deepened it almost instantly, forcing his tongue against Chiv’s, the desperation an almost tangible thing filling up the space between them. Chiv’s hands came up immediately to wrap tight around his waist, pull him closer, relief rolling from him in waves as he nipped at MacCready’s lower lip, returning the kiss as hard as he could. Chiv sighed shakily against his mouth as they parted for a moment to breathe, and when MacCready pulled back there was blood on Chiv’s t-shirt, smeared across his heart from MacCready’s bleeding fist.

‘Please, Chiv, _please_ …’

He hated how broken he sounded, hated how pleading and pathetic it was; but Chiv just made a small noise in the back of his throat, brows twisting up in an expression almost akin to pain before he cupped the sides of his face in both hands and pulled him in to return the kiss, hard enough to bruise. Soon they were both panting, breaking to gasp for air and trail messy open-mouthed kisses across cheeks, lips and necks. Chiv dipped his head to scrape his teeth against the column of MacCready’s throat, his pulse racing beneath the surface and a low whine pulling from deep in his chest.

‘RJ, what…?’ Chiv panted against his skin, but MacCready didn’t answer, just dropped his hands to his waist to scrabble up beneath his t-shirt, nails scratching blunt across his back in a desperate attempt to use up some of the nervous energy jittering through his veins. Chiv hissed at the sting and rolled his shoulders before gripping the bottom of his shirt and pulling it roughly over his head. He shivered lightly at the hit of cold air on his bare skin, but even before he’d tossed the shirt to the floor MacCready was pressing himself against him again, cutting out the cold. He hurt all over; his legs trembling and weak, his ribs catching sharply with each harsh gasp for air, his eyes scratchy and sore from crying, his throat tight with a burning ache. But he _needed_ this, needed to finish what they’d started in the Railroad HQ a few nights before, desperately needed the reassurance of Chiv solid and real against him before he...before…

Chiv sank his teeth hard into the crook of MacCready’s neck and his mind mercifully blanked out, mouth jarring open in a silent curse as he struggled to stay standing under the onslaught of sensation. Chiv’s hands slid cold up under his shirt and tugged it off over his head in one smooth movement, ruffling his hair as it popped through the collar. He leaned in again straight away, all eager hands and teeth, and MacCready forgot to feel self-conscious. He groaned lightly and let his head tip back as Chiv’s hand traced across his body, followed the curve of his spine down to roughly squeeze his ass, grip beneath his thigh and hitch his leg up to rest on the jut of his hipbone. MacCready huffed quietly at the contact and rolled his hips forward, eager; but then Chiv’s hand slid to his other thigh and gripped that too, and he realised a moment too late what he was doing.

‘Hey, hey, don’t…!’

Chiv picked him up easily, and MacCready felt him grin against his throat as he wrapped his legs around his waist instinctively, digging his nails into his shoulders as he muttered furious curses against the top of his head. Chiv walked them both the few steps back across the room, dumping MacCready somewhat unceremoniously on the bed but making up for it by immediately trapping him in place with a hand either side of his head, knee pressed hard up between MacCready’s thighs.

‘As- jerk,’ muttered MacCready, but as Chiv leaned down to kiss him again, deep and hurried, he felt the first low coils of heat start to wind up in the pit of his belly and decided to let it slide. The decision was only bolstered when Chiv’s hand traced a line from his chest down his belly, fingers sliding over the curve and dip of his waist before pressing against the front of his jeans, earning a clenched-teeth hiss of breath. Chiv chuckled darkly, raised one eyebrow at MacCready as he tugged the zipper down and leaned to press a teasing kiss just above his waistband as he slid them off. MacCready could still see the slight confusion behind his eyes; he’d clearly entered the room expecting the fight to continue, not... _this._ But hell, he wasn’t complaining, and as Chiv flung his jeans haphazardly into the corner MacCready didn’t much feel like pausing things to sit him down and talk through his reasons.

Then Chiv slid off the bed and dropped to his knees, and MacCready forgot everything in the world except the lazy grin that curled the corner of the other man’s mouth, the eager flush spreading across his cheekbones and the way the tip of his tongue darted out to wet his kiss-bruised lower lip. But he was hesitating again, tilting his head slightly, hands smoothing up MacCready’s slender thighs; MacCready could _feel_ the eager tremble in his fingertips as they slipped just the slightest bit beneath his underwear, and his voice cracked on his first attempt at speech, tongue-tied as he watched MacCready prop himself up on his elbows, all sharp angles and whiplash lean.

‘You, uh...you wanna...um…’

MacCready huffed in exasperation and hooked his ankles behind the other man’s head, revelling in Chiv’s shuddering breath as he rested his legs on either shoulder and gave him a few short sharp tugs for good measure.

‘Stop fu...messing around,’ he groaned. ‘ _Do_ something, Chiv, for fu... _uuuck…’_

Chiv dragged his underwear down his thighs in one eager, fumbling movement, leaving him suddenly exposed; but there was no time for self-consciousness or embarrassment before his mouth was around him, hot and wet and so sudden MacCready’s toes curled, legs flexing on Chiv’s shoulders as he let his head drop back with an almost shamefully high-pitched moan. Chiv took in as much as he could straight away, and it was almost too much, MacCready’s shaking arms dropping him back down to the mattress and his hands coming up to run through his hair to try and ease some of the tension thrumming in his veins. What Chiv lacked in technique he more than made up for with enthusiasm, sloppy and messy and eager and somehow it made it so much better, MacCready’s back arching up off the bed, fighting not to thrust up too hard as he panted and moaned under the other man’s tongue. He was coming undone embarrassingly quickly, already feeling the desperate heat reaching fever pitch after just a few short minutes; and it was too soon, still not enough to let his mind let go, but as Chiv’s teeth dragged teasingly up his length there was nothing he could do to stop it. He slid one hand down to run through the soft dark tangle of Chiv’s hair, earning a quiet groan from the other man as he tugged a little too sharply, feeling the vibrations of his voice and gasping again. The air in the room was heavy, thick, hard to breathe as he teetered on the edge, pulling again at Chiv’s hair in warning as…

Chiv stopped as suddenly as he started, leaning back on his heels and it took a forced amount of effort on MacCready’s part not to punch him, pushing himself up onto his elbows to see exactly _what_ he thought he was doing...but then he caught the mess of his hair and the shine of spit smeared across his lips and cheeks, the wide-eyed eager-to-please gaze as he fought to get his breathing back under control. MacCready suddenly became aware of his free hand, tucked low beneath his thigh, fingers gently tracing nonsense patterns against his skin.

‘Is it alright if...y’know, can I...?’

His breath ghosting cold over MacCready’s wet and oversensitive skin made him unable to answer for a long moment, pulling his lip into his mouth with a groan, teeth digging into the soft skin. It gave him a chance to think, though, a chance to fight through the haze of pleasure for a moment. He’d never done that, not even to himself. Jerking off had always been something to get done quickly; enjoy, sure, but long moments of privacy hadn’t exactly been common in his life, and, uh...when time was of the essence, experimentation kinda fell by the wayside. But...hell, the way Chiv was looking at him, grey eyes hopeful and dark with desire, combined with the ache of denial burning in his body...he was fairly sure he’d agree to anything right now just to get him to _move_ again.

Anything to keep his head blank and Chiv close.

‘I...yeah, okay, yeah, just _…_ don’t f-freaking _stop_ like that, you jerk. _’_

Chiv grinned at him, but the quip hid the flutter that had picked up in his stomach, and MacCready’s foot flexed nervously on Chiv’s shoulder as his fingers brushed against him; and they were already slick, the cocky little _shit,_ he’d known exactly what he was doing _._ He swallowed reflexively, mouth suddenly too dry; but then Chiv pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh where it trembled on his shoulder, and he caught his eye again, and as he gently pressed his finger in all MacCready felt was the sudden deep, desperate need for _more._

‘I... _oh,’_ he whispered, and let his head drop back, leg twitching as he tried to categorise the new feeling suddenly burning through his veins. ‘It...it feels…’

‘Shh,’ Chiv breathed against his thigh, and the rough need in his voice hit MacCready right in the pit of his belly. ‘Just...just tell me if you wanna stop.’

 _Not freakin’ likely,_ thought MacCready with a slight huff of laughter, pushing his hips down into Chiv’s touch as a slow wave of pleasure rolled through his body. It was new, and very strange, that was for sure; but something about it - something about being so open and at Chiv’s mercy - was pulling deep in his belly, shorting out his mind, making his hands twitch against the bedsheets and his breath come in quick shallow gasps.

‘Mmm, don’t... _oh, god…’_

Chiv’s shuddering breath ghosted eagerly over the inside of his thigh as he licked a long, messy and torturously slow line up the length of his dick, a second finger slipping slickly up to join the first and making MacCready moan, high and needy. The combination of heat and wet and push and pull was pooling white-hot pleasure deep in his gut, better than he’d ever imagined it could be. Chiv’s fingers crooked deep, making him twitch and tremble, the stretch-and-burn sending pure electricity crackling up the length of his spine. The build-up was slower this time, Chiv focusing more on the deep curl of his fingers, mouth and tongue slow and teasing instead of the fast-paced desperation of before. But it was still enough to keep MacCready’s mind a blank slate, unable to think about anything except the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter to breaking point.

He glanced down beneath dark lashes, studied Chiv’s face, caught the way his brows furrowed and his cheeks flushed as he groaned low in his throat, the glisten of sweat on his temple and the way his dark hair fell in disarray across his forehead, the stretch of his jaw around him. He was focused entirely on MacCready; no Railroad, no Institute, nothing and no-one but the two of them and the way MacCready’s leg was starting to shake against his shoulder. Chiv’s gaze flicked up suddenly, caught him looking, and he managed to bring his expression under control just enough to throw him a hazy, cocky half-smile, his scarred lip curling up in a dangerous grin as he pressed his fingers in hard and deep, crooking them _just right_ and pulling a long drawn-out moan from MacCready’s chest as his blood caught fire in his veins.

‘Shit, fuck, do that...oh, _god,_ do that again, Chiv, holy…!’

Chiv’s eyes lit up in triumph, his grin widening even further before he took MacCready back into his mouth as deep as he could, finding...finding whatever the heck _that_ had been and driving his fingers against it relentlessly. MacCready’s body was locking up, eyes rolling back and mouth hinged open in a breathless cry, pure pleasure scorching through his veins. Jeez, if he’d _known..._ and suddenly it occurred to him that if it could feel like this with just his fingers, the thick stretch of his cock was gonna be a _whole_ other deal.

‘ _Fuck,’_ he managed to whisper, and fell over the edge, back arching hard off the bed as he came, a desperate gasp ripping from his throat. Chiv moaned around him, coaxing him through it, but MacCready was lost, heels digging into Chiv’s back as he rode it out, finally letting his body collapse back to the mattress with an exhausted whimper, boneless and sated and unable to do anything but pant shakily for air.

‘RJ, holy _shit,’_ Chiv groaned, leaning back and swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. With MacCready’s legs still balanced heavily on his shoulders, he pulled himself back up onto the bed, nearly folding him in half as he leaned over him and dropped one hand down to stroke himself quick and rough, free arm trembling as he planted it next to MacCready’s head to support himself.

‘Fuck, hotshot, you know how good you look?’ Chiv breathed, eyes heavy-lidded but unable to tear away from MacCready’s heaving chest and flushed face, still riding the high. ‘ _Mmm..._ you’re...I...’ He trailed off, losing the thread, tipping his head back and clenching his teeth. With the last of his energy MacCready leaned up to wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him down to kiss him again, sloppy and exhausted; and a ragged moan tore from Chiv’s throat as he came hard across MacCready’s stomach, body tense and shaking. MacCready made a tired noise that could have been a moan, had he had any energy left in his body to make one. They stayed as they were for a long moment, Chiv’s eyes closed and his head hanging down as he slowly regained control, MacCready’s fingers playing absently with the shorthairs at the base of his neck, body a glow of satisfaction. Finally Chiv moved again, letting MacCready’s legs slip heavily from his shoulders as he collapsed next to him with a deep huff, the bed creaking loudly beneath them.

‘Told you I’d really get you cursing next time,’ he laughed breathlessly. ‘What brought that on? I thought you were gonna break my nose or somethin’ when you came storming at me like that. Not...not _that,_ oh man...’

MacCready just made a muffled sound in reply, rolling to bury his face in Chiv’s shoulder. His hand rested in front of his face, dried blood dark and cracked on his knuckles; and he squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the sight. He’d deal with it all later.

Right now, he just wanted to forget what was coming in the morning, and breathe in the scent of Chiv and sweat for what could be the last time.

 

***

 

‘RJ…’

‘Don’t.’ MacCready cut him off, sighing as he rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face into the pillow, hiding his face and muffling his words. ‘I was a jerk.’

‘No you weren’t,’ said Chiv, folding his arms behind his head, chewing absently on his lip as he stared up at the cracked ceiling. ‘I’ve been putting you through hell, I deserved some of what you said, at least.’

They’d migrated to Chiv’s room for the night, once MacCready’s knees had stopped shaking enough to allow him to stand; Chiv’s bed was bigger, and it was wordlessly accepted by both men that there was no _way_ they were spending the rest of the night alone. But despite the comfort and safety of each other’s presence, and the deep warmth of release in their aching muscles, sleep remained elusive. MacCready had managed to doze off a handful of times, but been woken again and again by Chiv twitching and whimpering or jolting upright, eyes wide and wild before remembering where he was and slowly settling back. They’d given up on sleep around a half hour ago, the Nuka Cola clock hanging crooked on the wall telling them it was coming up on four o’clock, the garage dark and still as they hung in the last remaining hours before dawn, and what that would bring with it.

‘I didn’t cope well without you out there,’ Chiv said suddenly, and MacCready’s brows furrowed against the pillow, confused.

‘’Course you didn’t, I keep telling you,’ he said, voice hoarse from tiredness, and closed his eyes again; but Chiv cleared his throat, and MacCready turned his head and cracked one eye open to see him still staring determinedly at the ceiling.

‘I mean it. I was a mess. I’ve got...I kept thinking you were there, over my shoulder, watching my back like always. Kept throwing myself into shit I couldn’t handle alone. I had Deacon, and other agents sometimes, but none of them shot like you do.’

Cheap flattery. MacCready fell for it anyway, a little glow of pride bubbling up in his chest. But still...

‘That isn’t exactly reassuring,’ he grumbled. ‘ _Hey, RJ, when you aren’t around I get into sticky situations and nearly die. Anyway off I go alone into the Institute!’_ He snorted, and rolled laboriously onto his side to look up at the other man. ‘Real comforting. Thanks.’

Chiv didn’t laugh.

‘I’m fucking terrified, RJ.’

There was a long moment of silence, both men listening to the distant creaking of the junk windmill on the roof, the gentle snoring of the dogs sprawled in the hallway. Chiv sighed and pushed himself up to sit against the headboard, reaching for his Pip-Boy and flicking on the light, filling the room with a harsh green glow.

‘The Railroad think I’m this big hero who wants to save the synths out of the good of my own heart, because it’s the _right thing to do,_ all that bullshit...but I just wanna know why.’ He sighed, closed his eyes. ‘I want to know why _me._ Why Nate, why Shaun. I figure…’ He faltered, and MacCready reached out, curled a tired arm around his waist and squeezed gently. Chiv swallowed audibly. ‘I know Shaun’s probably dead. I don’t think I’m gonna find him and bring him back and we’ll all play happy families together. Fuck, I can’t be a parent, and I’m not stupid enough to believe it could happen even if I could be a good dad. But I figure if I can just find out what happened, then it’s closure, right? I can put everything behind me and just be...Chiv. I can just be Chiv and I don’t have to...I don’t have to think about the past any more. Y’know? I’m just this...I don’t know what I’m doing or what’s going to happen, but it’s gone too far to stop now. I’m the only person in the Commonwealth who’s got a shot at getting inside the Institute. It all comes down to me. And that ain’t fair, but I can’t...after what I’ve seen...I just figure if I do this, then it makes up for some of the shit I’ve done. With Nora, and...and before that. Atonement or something. Redemption. I dunno, RJ, but...that’s how I see it.’

He sighed, and raised a hand to press the heel of his palm against his eyes. MacCready knew Chiv’s past went beyond just Nate and Nora, that he was trying to atone for a whole lifetime of wrongs; and he knew, too, that these were things he’d likely never know about. But Chiv needed to know he wasn’t the only one fighting with a past that wouldn’t seem to die. Everyone had skeletons buried. Some more than others.

‘...you ever heard of the Quincy massacre?’

Chiv cocked his head, confused.

‘No? I...wait, yeah. Preston talked about it. Gunners hit the town, right? And the Minutemen fell apart? Why, what’s it got to do with -’

‘Gunners, Chiv. Gunners hit the town.’

Chiv’s jaw slacked suddenly and his exhale came just that little bit harder.

‘Oh. I... _oh.’_

Mmm,’ he mumbled, and the sudden knot of panic in his stomach told him he’d made a mistake; but he swallowed hard, shoved it down. This was important. This was who he was.

‘We were told it was soldiers, armed soldiers that we were going up against. That it was just a small settlement but if we took it, we’d all be rich. You know how bad I needed caps, for...for Duncan. So we went. I was positioned on the overpass. I started shooting when I was told to, don’t know how many I took down. But then…’ He let out a long, shaky breath, and Chiv’s hand found his, winding their fingers together tightly. ‘I lined up a shot, and at the last moment they turned, and it was a woman with a kid in her arms. I froze up. I couldn’t...after Lucy, and Duncan, I couldn’t. I thought I’d sunk so low, but I guess I still had a bit of humanity left in me,’ he added bitterly. Chiv was silent, listening. ‘Before. You said you wanted me to know who you really were, before we got in too deep. Well, this is who I really am, I guess.’

There was a long pause, in which he could feel the slow rise and fall of Chiv’s chest, hear the whisper of his breathing. When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet MacCready nearly missed it.

‘The person you really are is the one who turned his back on the massacre,’ he whispered. ‘And that’s the person I lo…’ He paused, cleared his throat, cheekbones flushing in the dim light. ‘...I like. I like who you really are, RJ. We’ve both done shit we ain’t proud of. And there’s no undoing that. But you made the right choice, leaving the Gunners. And I think I’m making the right choice here, too.’

MacCready just nodded, but his fingers squeezed Chiv’s hand tight. The other man sighed quietly and shifted down on the bed again, curling against MacCready’s side, lips brushing gently against his temple in what might have been a kiss...had Chiv been that sort of sappy guy.

‘C’mon. We oughta at least try and get a bit more sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna fuckin’ suck.’

MacCready couldn’t help but laugh at that. There was a click, and the Pip-Boy light went out, dousing the room in darkness for the last remaining hours before the real war began.

 

***

 

Dawn arrived far too quickly, the old-blood sun pooling across the sky above them as they creaked their way over the old wooden bridge to Sanctuary. Chiv trailed his fingers through the morning dew still gathered on the few remaining railings, rubbing it lightly between his fingertips. MacCready glanced up, a frown creasing his brows as he mumbled to himself.

‘ _Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning.’_

‘What?’

‘Mmm...nothing. S’just something I read somewhere.’

The team at Sanctuary had cleared one of the empty lots, the ruins of what had once been a house piled in the backyard ready for breaking down and salvaging. MacCready had to admit, the work they’d done at Sanctuary was impressive; nearly every house now had lighting, crops were planted in rows in most gardens, and there were a great deal more settlers living there than he’d expected. Most of them were finding some excuse to be nearby, hovering on the fringes, making MacCready’s neck prickle whenever he turned his back. The interceptor was nearly ready, Sturges and Tinker Tom making a mismatched but formidable team as they ambled here and there with screws, wrenches and lengths of piping putting on the last finishing touches. MacCready eyed the copious amounts of duct tape with some trepidation. The machine itself was huge, a network of wires criss-crossing between the various parts, and all leading back to a console tucked beneath the shelter of a garage overhang on the adjacent house. It all looked very...home-made.

‘Hey, you got my invite then? Welcome to the barbecue,’ drawled a voice behind them, and the two men turned to see Deacon leaning against the side of the house. ‘Ah...maybe barbecue isn’t the right word,’ he amended with a little laugh, seeing MacCready’s face pale. ‘Don’t worry, sport, he’ll be fine. Won’t you?’

Chiv just rolled his eyes.

The sun was nearing its peak when they heard the growl in the distance, a low rumble that built to a furious roar, and hands went up to shield eyes from the glare as they paused their work to watch the Vertibird circle the woods across the river before disappearing below the treeline. Chiv’s eyes flickered once, grey gaze darting across the river before meeting MacCready’s, raising an eyebrow at him; and MacCready nodded immediately, reaching for his rifle and slipping quietly away, glad of the excuse to leave. He was on edge, jittery, getting under people’s feet as they rushed back and forth preparing for Chiv’s departure, and the tension in the atmosphere was making it hard to focus. But as he slipped back into his old role, rifle in hand and feet whispering over the old wooden slats of the Sanctuary bridge, he felt a little of his confidence returning.

The Brotherhood patrol was clustered around the remains of an old Raider camp; MacCready’s quick gaze took in two Scribes in the treeline looking out over the water, the customary power-armored Knight-Paladin stomping back and forth with his laser rifle at the ready, and a cluster of three Initiates hanging about the campfire with somewhat bored expressions beneath their Brotherhood-standard crew cuts. The clanking of the armor and the choking growl of the Vertibird’s engine provided enough cover for MacCready to slip behind an ancient water-pump, as close as he could get, grip tight and ready on his rifle. One of the Initiates was grumbling, leaning his chin in his hands and glaring petulantly at the Scribes.

‘...it doesn’t look like a weapon. Besides, I thought Elder Maxson said they weren’t a threat? Why would they suddenly go on the offensive?’

A second Initiate shrugged, kicking dirt at the long dead campfire.

‘Yeah, I thought the Minutemen were all just farmers with pipe pistols. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to take us on even if they did have something against us. I don’t understand what we’re doing here. My sister got assigned to city patrol, it isn’t fair, I know she’s just gonna rub it in my face when we get back.’

‘It’s not the Minutemen he’s concerned about,’ muttered the third Initiate, and MacCready shifted a little closer to hear over the whine of the Vertibird. ‘It’s the Railroad. They were supposed to just be this handful of people, scattered across the ‘Wealth, not even worth bothering with. But now...look at that thing.’ All three Initiates heads swivelled to stare out across the river, and MacCready tensed. ‘How the hell did they get the tech for _that?_ Whatever it is, they’re more capable than everyone thought.’

‘Yeah, I heard one of the Knights saying that Elder Maxson figured we’d end up killing more synths than they could ever save. Guess they figured it didn’t matter much if one or two slipped through the net. But this…’ The Initiate shrugged. ‘Guess they’re turning out to be more of a threat than anyone expected.’

‘Well, I don’t give a shit,’ said the first Initiate, lazily examining his rifle. ‘Railroad, Minutemen, Wastelanders...just different names for the same people, right? If Elder Maxson says they’re a threat, then they’re a threat. But they sure don’t look it.’

‘I don’t know,’ hummed another, still watching Sanctuary with a thoughtful expression. ‘That’s the Vault Dweller, isn’t it?’ She pointed across the water. ‘Him in the combat armor. He’s not just another Wastelander, that’s for sure. Haven’t you been listening to the radio?’

‘You get the radio in your bunk?! I thought Maxson forbid it!’

‘ _Elder_ Maxson, don’t let the Scribes hear you talk like that, you’ll get a write-up. Yeah, one of the Squires showed me how to do it, you can hook up the…’

Across the river there was a sudden ragged cheer, whoops and yells of triumph echoing across the water; the Initiates all fell silent, but MacCready had heard enough, and slipped backwards into the trees, leaving the Brotherhood soldiers to watch. Watch, and hopefully tremble.

A storm was brewing, that was for sure; and they were all gonna be caught out in the rain when it hit. This move against the Institute was an invite to open warfare, and now it seemed they were making enemies all over. This was going to get a whole hell of a lot worse before it got better.

And, as a shower of sparks went up from the Interceptor as he jogged back down the street towards it, it looked like one of the worst parts was right about ready to go.

Sturges was talking low and easy to Chiv as he approached, pressing a holotape into his outstretched hand. MacCready pushed through the circle of onlookers and stepped forward.

'All good over there?' Chiv asked, tucking the holotape into his pack. MacCready nodded easily, wondering how much it was safe to convey in front of the settlers.

'Nothin' to worry about today, that's for sure.'

Chiv hummed distractedly, checking his pack one last time before slinging it over his shoulder and turning to MacCready; but suddenly, faced with a goodbye, neither of them could think of a single thing to say.

‘Uh…’

‘I…’

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, and MacCready almost laughed at the absurdity of it; after everything they’d been through together, after last night especially, how was this so difficult? Chiv _was_ coming back, after all, he told himself firmly, and opened his mouth to say so when -

‘Aw, fuck it.’

Chiv grabbed his waist and in one smooth movement dipped him low for the singularly most _ridiculous_ kiss MacCready had ever had, his surprised yelp muffled against the press of Chiv’s lips. He felt his face heat up immediately, hands twitching before coming to rest awkwardly on Chiv’s shoulders, extremely aware of the way their audience had suddenly gone very quiet. Then Deacon whistled loudly, and he could _hear_ the shit-eating grin on his face, his ears flaming red as Chiv finally pulled him back up and gently bumped their foreheads together; but still, despite the burning embarrassment, he couldn’t help the little tug of a smile that pulled at the edge of his mouth.

‘I’m gonna come back, hotshot,’ he murmured. ‘I’m gonna come back and then...and then everything’s gonna be okay. I prom-’

‘Don’t say it,’ MacCready interrupted, his own voice roughened slightly. He found Chiv’s hand and squeezed it once, tightly. ‘Just...just stay safe, Chiv. Alright?’

‘And you do the same,’ said Chiv, hand lingering on MacCready’s waist for a moment before he reluctantly pulled away and stepped towards the transporter. MacCready glanced sideways, caught Tinker Tom grinning at him and looked away again, folding his arms and focusing his stare determinedly on the transporter. On Chiv, standing alone, grip white-knuckle on his shotgun but face set in a determined grimace.

‘Alright. I’m ready. Let’s fuckin’ do this.’

Deacon held up his hands, fingers crossed, an easy grin sloping across his face.

‘Fuck ‘em up, boss.’

Sturges moved to the control panel, and Chiv’s gaze snapped to MacCready, no fear left in those dark grey eyes; just excitement, adrenaline, anticipation. His grip tightened on his shotgun as he tipped him a cocky wink, all bravado and ballsiness as usual. The corner of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a smirk as he started to speak, started to say something, a final goodbye or an instruction or one of his usual stupid not-funny jokes.

‘RJ, I…’

And then he was gone, a sudden expression of shock sweeping over his face as Sturges gave a yell and the loudest gunshot MacCready had ever heard ricocheted around the street. Everyone ducked, hands over their ears, crying out, but MacCready leapt forward, sure something had gone wrong, the rising panic in his chest drowning out everything else.

‘ _Chiv!_ ’

‘He’s gone!’ crowed Sturges triumphantly, high-fiving Deacon with a whoop of pleasure. Flames were beginning to lick up the sides of the platform, the ragtag relay belching out thick black smoke as the electricity popped and sparked and sputtered out. Tinker Tom darted forward with an ancient extinguisher, yanking randomly at the tabs and nozzle until it it spluttered and hissed and sent out a jet of weak foam.

MacCready just stood frozen to the spot, hand still outstretched, watching the platform burn. The buzz of electricity still hung in the air around him, the thick smell of ozone heavy in his nose, the fine hair on his forearms and the back of his neck standing straight up, skin prickling uncomfortably. The firelight glinted off his glassy stare, his mouth open in shock. The settlers were clapping, the Railroad cheering, the Vertibird across the river firing up again with a roar, but he heard none of it, the thundercrack of the interceptor still ringing in his ears, the blue flash burned into the backs of his eyes.

Chiv was...gone.

And now there was nothing to do but wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be safe, Chiv.
> 
> I think this is the longest chapter so far by like...a good two thousand odd words and it’s 100% because I got carried away with *that* scene lmao sorry
> 
> Find me at [whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com!](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also please check out [this absolutely perfect drawing of Chiv and MacCready](http://eisenhexa.tumblr.com/post/162097417984/hi-whatshappeningcowboys-chiv-and-maccready-are) because it's the best thing ever.


	12. Interrogations

MacCready leaned forward, pushing his weight into the knife, gritting his teeth against the harsh squeal of metal on metal as he gouged the tenth line into the paint atop the roof of Red Rocket. The fresh tally mark stood out bold and stark, a newly opened wound on the already scarred and weather-beaten building. He exhaled softly through his nose, flicking metal shavings off the dulled knife edge as he sat back on his heels. Over a week, now.

Still no word.

He flipped off his cap, running a hand across his brow and up through his hair, then rose to his feet, leaving the knife discarded carelessly on the rooftop. Doubtless he’d be up here tomorrow evening too, carving the eleventh mark, the same sick weight in his stomach, the same horrible thoughts crowding in on his mind, the same sun staining the sky with blood as it dipped below the horizon and marked another day with no sign of Chiv returning. He jammed his cap back onto his head angrily, trying to shake off the unease. _Of course_ he hadn’t sent word. _Of course_ there’d been no sightings. He was inside the goddamn _Institute,_ not on vacation; they’d expected this, prepared for this.

Didn’t make it any easier.

His body was finally fully healed from the battering it had taken at the hands of the Behemoth, but he still grimaced lightly, knee creaking as he settled back into the old patio chair they’d dragged up here from Concord what felt like a lifetime ago. He still had one beer left in the cooler at his feet, and though night had almost fully fallen now he cracked it open on the edge of the patio table beside him; anything to take away the feeling of complete and utter helplessness. Chiv had asked him to wait, and wait he had; sitting in the ramshackle garage going out of his mind with boredom and worry day after day, wandering up the road to Sanctuary once or twice under the pretence of picking up supplies or checking in with Sturges to see if there’d been word over the radio.

(There hadn’t. He’d been listening in to both Diamond City and Radio Freedom twenty four hours a day until the repetitive music was a dull background roar inside his head).

The last time, he’d casually asked Sturges if the signal interceptor couldn’t be used to get a message inside; but the thinly-veiled pity in Sturges’ eyes and the gentle way he’d explained that _no, you know it was a one-time use thing, MacCready, sorry,_ was enough to make him feel sick.

Since the moment Chiv had left - _or been disintegrated right in front of your face_ , his mind helpfully reminded him - everyone at Sanctuary had been treating him like a godda- like a freaking war widow, treading carefully around the subject, conversations breaking off as he approached. He’d decided not to go back again. Which was probably for the best; seeing the blackened, charred remains of the molecular relay still smoking on the empty lot made his heart start hammering and his stomach churn with nausea. He still saw the flash of blue light when he closed his eyes at night, heard the vicious crack of electricity, saw the stupid cocky grin Chiv threw his way even as MacCready had started to shout and reach out for him in fear. Ten days. A week and a half. And he still had no way of knowing if it had even worked, if Chiv was even alive.

Hot, angry tears pricked the backs of his eyelids and he growled to himself, scrubbing the back of his hand roughly across his eyes, taking a long swig from his beer in a vain attempt to calm himself down. He hated feeling like this, hated feeling so fu- so freaking pathetic. Life hadn’t given him an easy ride so far, so why he’d expected this to go any differently he didn’t know. He wasn’t entirely sure what he _had_ expected, anyway; Chiv to come skipping back up the road after a day or two, full of wonderful stories of how he’d killed them all single-handedly, saved Shaun and every single synth he could find, had a big wonderful freedom party with the Railroad and even brought him back a souvenir?

He downed the rest of his beer in one long, angry draught, and dropped the empty bottle petulantly to the floor. He was being stupid as hell.

But it was the not-knowing that was keeping him up at night, burying his face in Dogmeat’s thick fur and trying to still the tremble in his hands. No-one in the entire Commonwealth had seen or heard anything, not even a whisper. All the Minutemen settlements were on high alert, even unconfirmed sightings to be radioed in immediately; but there’d been nothing. Not a single word, or a single spent shotgun casing; not a single sign of Chiv anywhere in the entire Commonwealth. MacCready was waiting on a knife-edge. The garage was torture, the silence and stillness a constant reminder that he was alone. The dogs whining at the door and the endless tick of the clock on the wall bored into his head no matter how loud he turned up the radio. Every little sound was making him start, every creak and groan of the building settling at night or the wind whining through the broken windows or the dogs sighing gently in the next room; every single time, without fail, his head would snap to the doorway, heart pounding in his throat and _pleading_ that it would be Chiv coming home.

But it never was.

MacCready leaned back in his chair, dragged one hand down his face, shoulders heaving in a long, low sigh. The night should have been peaceful; the air was pleasantly warm, a Brahmin lowing gently in the distance somewhere down the road, the moon rising bright and clear above him. But he couldn’t relax. He had to do something, couldn’t stay here going out of his mind. Had to do something to keep himself occupied. Diamond City, maybe? The Bobrov brothers had put him up before, and the Dugout was a good place to find work, if you knew who to ask. Or The Castle, even; they’d had troubles with Raiders nearby, lately, or could point him in the direction of any Minutemen settlements that needed a gun. Would put him in a good position to hear news, too, as -

Below him, Dogmeat snarled in warning.

MacCready grabbed his rifle immediately - never more than a few steps away from him now he was alone again - and was shimmying down the scaffolding seconds later, feet silent and light as he darted through the shadows at the base of the building and pressed his back to the wall. Two steadying breaths, then he leaned out, rife raised and ready; only for a figure to loom up in his scope, a familiar shit-eating grin pasted on their face beneath the bald head and horrendously conspicuous sunglasses.

‘Oh, for fu...for god’s sake.’

‘Nice to see you too, pal. I’m doing just peachy, thanks for asking.’

Deacon grinned at him as he lowered his rifle and stepped into the light of the doorway, body still held tense and wary.

‘What do you want?’

He could see Deacon looking hopefully past him, over his shoulder and into the relative warmth and comfort of the garage. He looked weary, probably thirsty, too; must have been on the road with the caravan for some time, if they’d come up from Boston. MacCready scowled and folded his arms heavily, shifting what little weight he had to block the doorway.

‘What, a tired traveller can’t drop in on a friend for a little social visit? And here I thought I'd walk into a welcome party. Balloons, cake, hors d'oeuvres, the whole nine yards. Ten caps says we can make fireworks with a junk jet.’ He raised a slender red eyebrow, quirking out from behind his dark glasses. ‘Unless I’m keeping you from something?’

MacCready’s fist clenched involuntarily with the sudden urge to punch him right in that stupid grinning face. Deacon knew right where to cut for the biggest reaction, where to poke and prod to get you emotional, get you to drop your guard. Chiv had quietly warned him of it those first few days in the Old North Church, and even through the haze of anger MacCready remembered the warning. Something was going on here; Deacon was trying to figure him out, analyse him, get him to reveal something. He had to find out what.

And he’d be damned if he was gonna mess around playing mind games to get to the answer.

‘Deacon, cut the sh- crap. I’m not in the mood for this. Why are you here?’

Deacon studied him for a moment longer, eyes taking in the slump of his shoulders, the shadowed cast of his eyes; the way he still gripped his rifle, fingers twitchy on the smooth steel. His hand flexed suddenly at his side, and MacCready tensed in case he was going for a weapon, eyes snapping down; but it just seemed to confirm something to Deacon, who nodded slowly to himself. A moment, and then he clapped his hands together briskly, seemingly coming to a decision.

‘Alright, look. I came to see if you were hiding him.’

MacCready stared at him for a long moment, jaw working silently.

‘I’m...you... _what?’_

Deacon’s face gave nothing away.

‘MacCready, look, as much as pissing you off is pretty much up there on my list of Funnest Things To Do Foreverest, the way you’re holding that rifle suggests you’re going to rearrange my insides if I try it. So to save me a trip to Carrington and you one hell of a clean-up job, I’m going to be straight with you. Desdemona thinks you’ve had contact with Wanderer, and you’re hiding it from us. A note, a meeting...hell, a conjugal visit,’ he added, and grinned; but MacCready didn’t laugh, just stared stonily back at him. ‘But boy, looking at you...I’m guessing that ain’t quite on the money.’

‘Yeah, no sh...no kidding.’ MacCready raised a hand to run through his hair, remembered his cap, dropped his arm again in a defeated gesture. ‘He hasn’t been ho...hasn’t been here.’

The words came out with more than a little tinge of bitterness to them, and something in Deacon’s face softened suddenly; just a little lowering of his eyebrows, a flicker of his eyes behind the dark glasses, but enough of a slip of his usual reveal-nothing mask for MacCready to notice and tilt his head questioningly.

‘Ah...alright. This is technically on a need-to-know basis, but I think you count. Don’t get your hopes up, but we’ve had an unconfirmed sighting. Abandoned settlement down in Suffolk County. Two men were spotted there the night before last. One tall, scary-looking dude dressed all in black leather. And the other a younger guy with dark hair...and scars all across his face.’

MacCready felt suddenly sick, and Deacon held up his hands.

‘Like I said, unconfirmed. Sure isn’t a national shortage of heavily scarred guys these days. So we wouldn’t pay it any mind. But the hook?’ He crooked a finger in the air before him, huffed out a humorless laugh. ‘That particular settlement is abandoned because it was hit by synths two weeks ago. Institute stole or killed the two women living there. It’s enough of a coincidence to prick our ears up, at any rate.’

They stood in silence for a long moment, the air heavy between them. MacCready’s fingers smoothed subconsciously over the woodgrain of his rifle’s stock, finger tapping beside the trigger as his eyes narrowed, the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably.

‘So...what you’re trying to say is…’

‘I’m not trying to say anything, MacCready,’ Deacon interrupted. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger, right?’ He tugged pointedly at his caravanners outfit. ‘But Agent Wanderer has made no contact with us in ten days, and as if that wasn’t enough, he’s been seen in the Commonwealth in the company of an Institute Courser at a location known to have been previously targeted by the Institute. What, pray tell, is Desdemona supposed to think?’

MacCready’s lip curled, hot anger mixing with the nausea rising in his gut.

‘You’re _supposed_ to think that everything’s gone to plan, and he’s...he’s doing what he has to do. To save _your_ precious synths,’ he added, spitting the words out as viciously as he could. Deacon chuckled, but there was no humour behind it.

‘Uh-yeah, because assuming everything is fine and skipping on your merry way is for _sure_ the best way to stay alive. And it’s prooobably _definitely_ how you bring down an organisation like the Institute.’ He shrugged, and the casual lift of his shoulders made MacCready’s gut burn hot with fury. ‘We have to consider the possibility that our boy is batting for the other team, now. Uh. Figuratively speaking.’

‘No.’ MacCready’s teeth gritted together. ‘He wouldn’t.’

‘So you say.’

Deacon’s tone was light, cheerful, and MacCready wanted to punch him in the throat.

‘You don’t trust a word I say, do you? You think I’m such a...a...’

‘You’re a mercenary, MacCready. You sell your gun to the man with the biggest pile of caps. Right now, that’s Agent Wanderer. So whoever he’s allied to, you are too. That’s how it goes in your line of work, right? It’s nothing personal, pal. Wanderer -’

‘Stop _calling him_ that,’ MacCready snarled suddenly. ‘His name is _Chiv._ He’s not your agent, he’s not your tool. He’s -’

‘No. He’s not our tool,’ said Deacon, and for the first time his casually friendly tone seemed suddenly strained. ‘You’re right on the bullseye there, friend. Exactly who that particular instrument of chaos belongs to...well.’

Silence fell again, this time cold and cutting.

‘You don’t know us,’ MacCready said after a moment. ‘You don’t know any of our reasons for doing what we do. Even you with all your bullshit spying and sneaking around and pretending to be anyone but yourself. You don’t know us at all. Chiv bought my gun, yes. But he’s earned way more than that. I’m loyal to him.’

‘Loyal to a fault.’

MacCready watched the way the light from the garage flickered over his dark glasses. His mouth was held lax, easy, his shoulders relaxed and sloping; but who knew what expression his eyes held? Hatred, disdain, distrust.

All MacCready felt was exhaustion.

‘He’ll prove you wrong.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘And so will I. Go away, Deacon. If he turns up, I’ll tell him you dropped by.’

‘Thanks, sport.’ Deacon’s voice was immediately back to it’s usual perkiness as he mimed holding up a gun, clicked his tongue as he dropped the ‘hammer’ with his thumb. But then he paused, and MacCready got the impression he was staring directly at him behind those dark glasses. ‘And in return...I’ll keep you in the loop as much I can. Alright? Fair’s fair.’

He turned and trotted easily off into the darkness, whistling as he went, following in the tracks of the caravan up towards Sanctuary. MacCready remained still, leaning his weight as nonchalantly as he could against the doorway, trying to seem as casual and unfazed as he could; but his knees were trembling, his legs feeling like water. As soon as Deacon was out of sight, hidden by the thick scrub hedge that grew along the roadside, MacCready dropped his gun with a clatter and doubled over, hands on his shaking knees. A sighting. Unconfirmed, sure, but MacCready could feel it in his gut. He was _alive._

 _And in the company of a Courser,_ added the nasty voice at the back of his mind. _You can kiss your happy ending goodbye right there, pal._

No. No way. Of course he was gonna be with a Courser; the Institute were hardly gonna spit him back out into the wastes to blurt out all their secrets. Chiv would be biding his time, waiting until he could give it the slip. If that meant visiting Institute-controlled sites in the meantime...going undercover...

But what if Deacon was _right?_ He gritted his teeth. Fucking Deacon. He knew exactly how to get inside your head. And right now, MacCready’s head was a blur. Chiv, betray them? Every atom of his body snarled _no, never._

But…

He’d loved Nate. And Nora. Maybe still did; it’d only been months, for him, right? Months since the world he’d known had been destroyed. If the rumours of the Institute were true, it was a paradise; practically pre-War, with technology and water and food and safety. How could he not be drawn by that? By the chance to return to the life he’d had before? And if Shaun was there...if Nate and Nora’s son was there, surrounded by all this, would he want to bring him back out again? Into the wastes, to raise him alone, or...or whatever his plan for the kid was? If he was looking for redemption, wouldn’t he want to stay there; where he and the kid could be safe?

 _But this is Chiv_ , he thought to himself as he made his way slowly through the hallway, trailing his fingers along the sloping ridge of Junkyard’s spine as she pressed comfortingly against his legs. _Chiv doesn’t want safety_. He wanted adventure and danger and excitement.

He wanted MacCready.

Right?

MacCready pushed aside the flag curtain without thinking, dropped shakily down onto Chiv’s bed and buried his face into his pillow. But sleep was a long time coming.

 

***

 

MacCready’s breath whispered out in a slow, quiet exhale as he staggered out of the Third Rail and into the cold night air. Despite the late hour, Goodneighbor was still alive with people, flitting through shadows between the orange pools of the streetlights, clustered laughing in doorways or singing raucously between the bars. The mingling scents of smoke, drink and piss hung in the air, sharp and acrid; but MacCready barely noticed, stumbling and reaching out a hand to scrape along the rough bricks of the State House wall as he steadied himself, a little giggle escaping his lips. His feet felt heavy, clumsy, his limbs too long to control, his body swerving and swaying as wandered aimlessly down the dingy street.

He’d bummed a cigarette from one of the bar patrons who’d taken pity on him, held it tucked loosely between his lips; but unlit, still. He’d _promised_ Duncan, swore to himself he’d clean up his act, couldn’t quite bring himself to dig in his pack for the lighter that lay mostly forgotten somewhere at the bottom. But the scent of smoke heavy in the bar had been familiar - had been Chiv on a cold night, leaning out the window of whatever ramshackle place they’d found to bed down, or trying with increasing frustration to blow smoke rings as they walked side-by-side down the winding roads of the Commonwealth. And shit, it’d been months now since his last one. He figured Duncan would forgive him just one, especially under the circumstances.

After Deacon’s visit, he’d been unable to stay at Red Rocket. The garage felt unsafe again, even with the dogs, a big bright landmark denoting his position; he’d hunted through the workshop in a vain attempt to find the switches to turn off that goddamn gaudy glowing rocket statue, but to no avail. Whereas before he’d been hoping desperately that every little sound was Chiv returning home, now there was just the constant fear that it was a Courser; or worse, Chiv _and_ a Courser, intentions unknown. After two sleepless nights in a row, he’d given up and headed to Diamond City, as per his original plan; but found instead that his feet carried him through the ruined city streets towards the smoky, boozy shade of Goodneighbor.

Somehow, it seemed fitting, to return to the place where all this shit had started.

He’d been drinking since his arrival, his old spot at the Third Rail bar prophetically empty; Whitechapel Charlie had, in a rare moment of friendliness, mixed him a Dirty Warhead before he’d even sat down (although of course, he’d still had to pay for it). He’d seen no-one he knew. Which suited him just fine. He didn’t wanna answer any questions. Didn’t wanna exchange falsely friendly pleasantries and small talk. He just wanted to drink, and that was that.

And drink he had. In vast, burning quantities.

But now it was closing time, and he needed a piss and to find somewhere to sleep that wasn’t a gutter. The Hotel Rexford loomed opposite, the tumbledown sign bright and burning into the backs of his eyes. He could certainly afford it now. It’d been long enough that Clair Hutchins would hopefully have forgotten the damaged furniture from last time, and -

_Chiv’s expression, so desperate and vulnerable as the streetlight knifed across him, illuminating every scar; the stretch of his throat as he tipped his head back, the sheen of sweat on his shoulders and chest as he rolled his hips up into MacCready and moaned his name…_

He swallowed hard, turned away.

No. Not the Rexford.

Hancock would let him have his old space in the State House attic; that would do, for now, and he was unlikely to ask any awkward questions, which suited MacCready just fine. He and Chiv were linked too closely together now, half the damn Commonwealth seemed to have heard of him and what he was doing, and he’d caught more than one curious glance from a settler or a trader on the road as he passed them alone. He’d hoped to avoid him whilst he was here; certainly hoped to avoid Daisy, at any rate, and there was always the risk that Hancock would be concerned enough about the state he was in to drag her up for a pep talk. He’d slunk across the Marketplace when he arrived, sticking to the walls to avoid Daisy’s piercing gaze, feeling guilty but unable to face the look of pity that was sure to cloud her eyes when she asked the inevitable.

‘Robert?’

He glanced up blearily, and there she was, as though summoned by the cloud of misery he was emanating; standing hands on hips with her head cocked to the side, warm dark gaze frowning at him. MacCready felt another giggle bubble up from his throat, like a kid caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Well, he supposed that was what he looked like. Little Lamplight hadn’t exactly afforded those sort of picket-fence scenarios. A lump was starting to burn in his throat.

‘I thought you’d stopped smoking,’ Daisy chided after a moment’s awkward silence, and MacCready gave an exaggerated groan.

‘I _have,’_ he said, drawing the word out, slurred and sloppy and just a little choked. ‘For Duncan. S’just _one,_ Daisy.’

‘One too many,’ she said, and gently plucked it from between his lips, tucking it into a pocket. ‘What’s going on, Robert? I’d heard rumours you were back in town, but I thought you’d have come to see me if it were true.’

MacCready just shrugged and tried to swallow around the lump now _definitely_ constricting his throat. Why? Why hadn’t he just gone into the Rexford and crashed out to sleep instead of wasting time out here giggling like an idiot because now she was going to ask _questions_ and he was going to have to _answer_ and she’d be _nice_ about it and...and...

‘You’re on your own?’ Daisy asked, glancing behind MacCready to the door of the Third Rail as though expecting Chiv to step through. ‘Where’s your…’

MacCready felt the first drunken sob hiccup in his chest, and crumpled forward into her arms.

 

***

 

‘So. Tell me what’s been going on.’

MacCready groaned, slumping down in his chair until his chin hit the table.

‘Nnn...no.’

She’d hauled him kindly but firmly through the streets of Goodneighbor back to the marketplace, into her shop, pushed him up the stairs to the tiny apartment that made up her home. With the doors firmly shuttered behind them and the curtains drawn, she’d sat him down and handed him a handkerchief in a matter-of-fact way that was so completely Daisy MacCready almost laughed. Now, with a handful of candles glowing brightly on the kitchen table before them, the light flickering amber through the glasses of whiskey she’d poured for them both, Daisy templed her hands and fixed MacCready with the most soul-piercing glare he’d ever received. He quailed before her.

‘He’s...he’s in the Institute.’

‘The _Insti…’_ Daisy drew in a slow, shocked breath. ‘Oh, Robert. What have you gotten yourself into?’

‘S’not any worse than the Gunners,’ he grumbled petulantly, slowly swirling the whiskey in his glass. ‘And clearly _I_ haven’t gotten in anywhere. _He’s_ the one who’s gone off on this mission like a...like some kind of…’

Daisy clucked her tongue at him.

‘Watch your language. And don’t tell me you weren’t going to, because I know you were,’ she added, eyeing him as he snapped his mouth shut again from where he’d been about to argue back. ‘So. He’s in the Institute. And you aren’t with him. So what are you doing whilst he’s gone?’

‘What am I…? Nothing. He asked me t’ wait.’

Daisy nodded, an understanding look on her face.

‘Uh huh. He asked you nicely to wait, so you’ve waited. Remind me who I’m talking to, again? Because the MacCready I know certainly wouldn’t have listened to that.’

MacCready bristled at her, slamming his glass down on the table a little harder than he’d meant to.

‘I’m not waiting because he _told me to,’_ he snapped. ‘I’m waiting because I _want_ to. I’m waiting so he doesn’t come back battered and bleeding with no-one to patch him up. I’m waiting because I want to _help_ him, and I _can’t,_ and it...I’m...because…’

Daisy’s eyes were soft and sad, and he found himself unable to look at them, gaze dropping instead to the worn wood of the table.

‘Bobby.’

‘I think I’m in love with him, Daisy.’

There was a long pause, and then her gnarled hand found his shoulder, squeezed it gently. MacCready sighed, shaky and resigned.

‘It doesn’t feel like it did with Lucy. With her it was...y’know, we grew up together, we’d been through so much as kids, it just...she was something familiar, out there in the Wasteland. She was...safe. But Chiv…’ He hiccuped on a small laugh, too high-pitched. ‘He’s not safety. He’s danger and impulse and recklessness and...and he’s a goddamn freakin’ idiot but _god,_ Daisy, when he smiles...when he smiles like that or when he gets that _look_ in those stupid big dark eyes or when he...when he…’

He dropped his head to the table, burying his face in his arms, and Daisy’s hand rubbed soothingly across his back, the nape of his neck.

‘I know, Robert. I know it hurts.’

‘That’s just it, though,’ MacCready mumbled into his sleeve. ‘It doesn’t hurt. What _hurts_ is that I don’t know where he is, if he’s okay. If he’s still...if he’s thinking of me. But when he’s with me...it doesn’t hurt at all.’

They stayed as they were for a few minutes, MacCready slowly bringing himself back under control, sniffling quietly into his arms until he pushed himself back up with a shuddering sigh. Daisy gently took the whiskey from the table and placed it back on the kitchen counter.

‘I’ve been around a long, long time, kid. Longer even than he has, and that’s saying something.’ She chucked him gently under the chin, bringing his gaze up to meet her warm, dark eyes. ‘And you don’t get to be two and a half centuries old without learning the signs. If he makes it out of there, you two will be just fine.’

‘But what if he doesn’t come back?’ MacCready whispered, sniffing hard one final time and wiping his nose on his sleeve despite Daisy’s frown. ‘What if I’ve lost him, too? What if I never find out what happened? I can’t...I can’t take this not knowing, Daisy. At least with Lucy I watched it happen. I knew.’

Daisy was quiet for a moment as he swiped the last of the tears from his cheeks.

‘You have to understand, Robert, he may not come back,’ she said finally. MacCready’s eyes raised to meet hers, reddened and tired. ‘It hurts, but you have to be realistic. This is the most dangerous thing he could possibly have done. He’s right in the lion’s mouth, here.’ She patted him on the arm, then motioned for him to stand, leading him over to the small couch. ‘If anyone can make it out of there alive, it’s Chiv. But for now, you need to think of yourself first. Think of Duncan, of your son. You’ve proven to yourself that sitting around waiting is getting you nowhere,’ she added, pulling a spare blanket from a shelf and arranging it on the sofa. ‘You need to get back to _you.’_

MacCready nodded slowly.

‘You’re right. I need to remember what’s important. I’m out here for Duncan, not for Chiv, right? Just cause I’ve got the cure and a bunch of caps now doesn’t mean I don’t have a purpose any more.’ Daisy stepped back, and he folded his lanky frame onto the couch, shuffling down under the blanket. Daisy watched him settle, perched neatly on the coffee table.

‘You know, Hancock has a bounty out on some Raiders over on Water Street,’ she said softly. ‘Easy work for someone with your talents.’

‘Mmm,’ mumbled MacCready, burying his face into the couch cushions. ‘’S a good idea. Send some extra caps back to Duncan. Or...or buy him something nice. A present.’

‘That sounds like a nice idea.’ A pause, and then she leaned forward, rested one roughened hand gently on his head, fingers brushing once through his hair. ‘Things are always brighter after a good night’s sleep.’ MacCready hummed noncommittally, already drifting, the exhaustion of sleepless night and the turmoil of emotions finally overcoming him. ‘You’ll feel better come the morning. Keep yourself occupied, don’t let your skills dull. If he comes back, you’re going to need them.’

‘When,’ MacCready whispered. ‘ _When_ he comes back.’

Daisy smiled sadly, and stood.

‘For your sake, Bobby, I truly hope you’re right.’

 

***

 

Dawn found MacCready slipping through the shadows of the Boston skyline, winding his way silently through the debris-choked roads that surrounded Goodneighbor. Water Street Apartments lay to the south of the town, a few blocks away. An easy walk at this time of day. The streets were unusually quiet, even for the dawn hours, but it worked in his favor; amplifying the tell-tale thumping of Mutant footsteps, allowing him to easily adjust his route and slip by them unnoticed. This was territory he knew well, roads he’d worked for months before Chiv had burst onto the scene in his whirlwind of bruises and danger and intrigue.

 _Not supposed to be thinking about that today,_ he chided himself.

The Raiders holed up inside the Apartments were tough, if rumour was to be believed, and Hancock was paying good money for their heads, Daisy had said; but this wasn’t about the money. This was about getting back to himself, reminding himself what he was really out here for. Not to sit around pining and waiting. Not to rely or depend on other people. But to be Robert Joseph MacCready, self-sufficient and deadly and putting his son above all else.

If the stale taste in his mouth from last night was still lingering, and his gaze still a little bleary, it didn’t show in the quietly confident way he hopped over walls and crept through alleys. It certainly didn’t show when he took down the first Raider guard at a distance and through the blown-out windows of a rusted car, his bullet taking them dead-on in the throat in a spray of gore and gurgled cries. He hissed his frustration between his teeth at the noise, approached tense and slow; but no-one emerged from the building. Alright. Good start. Now for the real fun.

MacCready took one long, steady breath.

The apartment door swung open with a single kick, and MacCready went in shooting, taking down two Raiders and burying a bullet in the thigh of a third before anyone had time to react. His sharp glance took in a filthy kitchenette, a knocked-through wall into a living room, a row of boarded up doors along the wall to his left. He ducked down behind a corner table, the most solid piece of furniture that remained, listened to the surprised and furious screaming from above and tried to count the different voices. Three. Four? About that.

Not enough to take him down, at any rate, he thought with a burst of savage delight.

They had the advantage of height, but no discipline; bottlenecked on the stairs, and MacCready was almost disappointed at how easy it was to take them out. A few stray bullets zipped and sang above his head, taking chunks from the wall and the doorway, whistling out into the street, but the shitty scrappy pipe pistols they wielded had none of the accuracy of his own weapon and he remained untouched. Jeez, _this_ was the gang that had been giving Hancock trouble?! It was almost laughable. The tangle of bodies blocking the stairs was going to make looting the upper floor a bitch, he realised with a twist of his lip as he emerged from his spot. Still, this gang had been targeting caravans for a while, now. Should have some decent stuff in the place. Maybe he could even find something to send back to Duncan - assuming, of course, it wasn’t splattered with blood.

Something clunked off a shelf behind him, and he’d half-turned to investigate when the wounded Raider hit him.

‘Fuck!’

The curse slipped out from behind bared teeth before he could stop it, but there was no time to care; a knife was slicing through the air an inch from his face as they tumbled hard, his gun slipping from his grasp and skittering across the floor. No good at such close quarters anyway. MacCready turned his head, wrenching his neck out of the way, and the knife glanced off his cheek. The Raider had fallen across his stomach, was reaching up awkwardly to slash at his face and throat, and he managed to bring his legs up to kick wildly at them, rolling onto his front to protect his face and crawl away. The floor was sticky, slippery with something hot and wet and coppery; and as his foot lashed out, it caught the Raider in their wounded thigh, drawing an excruciating howl of pain from their throat. The knife clattered from their grasp as they bent double to grip their leg, and MacCready twisted himself round to seize it immediately, slick in his shaking grip, gathering his legs under him and throwing himself forward with all his strength to drive it home into their throat. The Raider moved a second too late, had used all their strength in the initial attack, the bullet to the thigh the true fatal blow; and a few thrashing, gurgling moments later they were still.

He sat panting on the floor in the growing pool of the Raider’s blood, panic and adrenalin burning through his veins. Sloppy. _Stupid._ He’d gotten too used to Chiv taking out the stragglers, rushing in ahead, keeping anyone from getting too close to him. He touched his fingertips to the cut on his cheek, brought them away wet and shiny with blood. Only sheer dumb luck had saved him from losing an eye, or worse.

And there wasn’t even anyone to reach out a hand, haul him back to his feet with a laugh and a joke, squeeze his fingers for just a moment too long to reassure him he was okay, he’d made it, luck or no.

God, he missed Chiv.

He stayed stock-still for a few more long moments, senses straining for any signs of life in the building...but there was nothing. Just the slow drip of blood, the creak of the door swinging in the breeze behind him. He stood on only slightly shaky legs, kicked it shut, not caring about the sound echoing through the streets; the gunshots would have drawn enough attention, hopefully warned away anyone foolish enough to be in the area. And the streets had been quiet, anyway.

Still. The elation from earlier had definitely been dulled somewhat by his own damn cockiness, he thought wryly as he reached for his fallen rifle. How many damn times had he told Chiv not to get confident, not to let his guard down? Oughta take his own advice for once. He wouldn’t push his luck, wouldn’t linger here any longer than he had to.

Alongside all the usual loot - handfuls of loose caps, half-empty boxes of ammo, some screws he could cannibalize from their shitty pipe pistols - there was a makeshift chems lab on the second floor, Mentats and Stimpaks and Buffout scattered across shelves and in boxes. MacCready whistled quietly as he spotted it, scooped as many as he could into his pack until it was bulging at the seams and he felt like he could take on even Marowski at his own game.

Daisy was right - this _had_ been a good idea. His pockets were gonna be jangling nicely after he sold all this stuff off, and it was a good feeling knowing it was money he’d earned alone - not that he’d ever grudge splitting the loot with Chiv, hell, signing on with him had been the most lucrative venture of his life in more ways than one. But it gave him a little smug glow of satisfaction to know that every single thing he picked up here was _his_ and his alone. He hefted his pack back onto his shoulder, took one last glance around the scrappy little apartment. Coulda been a nice place, at one time.

Downstairs, the door swung open.

 _Knew it was too fucking quiet,_ he thought, and was halfway out the empty window frame before a huge hydraulic hand clamped around the nape of his collar and dragged him roughly back in again. His head caught the lip of the windowsill with a dull thud, the pain rattling through his teeth and screwing his eyes shut; just enough of an impedance to allow his assailant to haul him fully back into the room and propel him forwards. He staggered, off-balance from the shove, one hand coming up to grip at his hair in an attempt to alleviate the pain; but the figure in the power armor grabbed his wrist again, twisted it painfully down his side as the other hand pulled his rifle from his back and handed it off to a waiting figure. MacCready blinked back the smarting tears of pain, trying in vain to tug his arm free, but the room was suddenly filling with people, a group of soldiers in familiar garish uniforms trotting in file up the stairs and surrounding him.

_Brotherhood…?_

‘That’s him. That’s the one.’ One of the soldiers pushed forward, laser rifle held easy across his chest, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. ‘Robert Joseph MacCready. You’re a bitch to track down, you know that? Only ever seem to see you when we don’t want to.’

‘Oh, crap,’ said MacCready, and despite the pain in his head, he laughed. ‘It’s you. From the junkyard, right? The asshole Initiate. Leon? Ian?’

‘Liam,’ gritted the soldier. ‘And it’s Knight Liam, now.’

‘Right. Asshole Knight Liam. Congratulations.’

Liam’s grip tensed on his rifle, the weapon coming up as his mouth opened angrily, but one of the other soldiers stepped in and pushed the barrel back down, muttering something in his ear. MacCready leaned forward again, trying to tug his arms free, the power-armor grip on his bicep starting to bruise. Panic was rising hot and acid in his throat. He’d seen the Brotherhood like this before, back in D.C, and knew it spelt nothing but bad news for him. No one went to this much effort for a simple chat.

‘Find him a chair.’

Someone dragged a broken stool over from the kitchenette, and a few moments later MacCready sat alone before the soldiers, the power-armored Knight-Paladin still stood firmly at his back. His rifle leaned against the counter, giving the appearance of being close but _just_ out of reach in very deliberate and careful way. The soldiers all remained standing, and MacCready’s quietly flickering eyes hadn’t missed the safety’s flicked off on their weapons. Just in case. All the scene needed was a single lightbulb swinging from the ceiling. Shame the Raiders who’d owned the apartment had no sense for the dramatics.

 _Least they didn’t tie my wrists,_ MacCready thought drily. _I’m free to scratch my ass as much as I want._

‘So, how’s the Commonwealth been treating you? Bit of a change from D.C, huh?’ He kept his tone light, casual; raised one hand to lazily brush a lock of hair back from his forehead and caught the way the soldiers tensed. So, they considered him dangerous. In any other situation, he’d be preening. In this one, it was terrifying. One false move, one green Initiate with a shaky trigger finger, and he was gone. Daisy knew he was coming here, sure; but how long would it be before she started to wonder? Days? Weeks? That was if she sent someone looking at all, didn’t assume he’d just gone home to D.C, or caught back up with Chiv. He’d be a pile of ash and bones long before anyone came to the rescue. He shifted slightly on the stool, flexed his ankle, made sure his feet were ready to hit the floor and run should the opportunity arise.

‘Water’s not so great out here, but the scenery’s a little nicer. I hear the coast is pretty this time of year. If you can stand the smell of rotting -’

‘Where’s your employer, MacCready?’

A hot flash of panic hit him in the gut, but outwardly he just rolled his eyes, maintaining as unaffected an exterior as he could.

‘Not this again,’ he sighed, pushing the air out in an exaggerated a manner as he could. ‘I don’t know. Could be anywhere. Could be nowhere. I ain’t seen him in a while.’

The soldiers exchanged glances.

‘Is he working for the Railroad?’

MacCready picked a bit of dirt out from beneath one fingernail nonchalantly.

‘More like they’re working for him. Same with the Minutemen. He’s got half the Commonwealth on his side,’ he added, still examining his nails like they were the most interesting thing in the room. _So don’t fuck with him,_ he added viciously in his head.

‘Do you know how to contact the Railroad? Do you know where their base is?’

MacCready shrugged.

‘Nope, and nope. He handled that crap. I’m only useful when there’s shooting to be done.’

One of the soldiers chuckled empathetically at that, and earned themselves a kick in the shin from a comrade. Good. If he could get them relaxed, get them on his side, there was a greater chance he’d walk away from this with limbs intact.

‘Enough with the small talk,’ growled a diminutive female soldier with a face like iron, stepping forward. ‘That _thing_ you built in Sanctuary. What is it?’

Alright. Here we go. MacCready kept his face impassive and his tone joking. We’re all on the same side here, friends. No need to get that trigger itch.

‘Do I look like I know about all that science crap?’ he said, and added a chuckle for good measure. ‘They don’t let me in on the important stuff, anyway. Look, I think you got the wrong guy here. I’m just the hired gun. I don’t get told anything.’

A few of the soldiers shifted at that, exchanging looks, and MacCready’s stomach dropped, immediately knowing he’d said the wrong thing. The woman snorted, unamused.

‘You know, you’re a pretty convincing liar.’

‘Who says I’m lying?’

One of the other Initiates laughed, loud and obnoxious.

‘No-one kisses a hired gun like that. We watched him leave, MacCready.’

MacCready felt his mouth go dry. The soldier in the power armor behind him spoke suddenly, making him jump, the tinny voice crackling in his ear.

‘He’s just giving us bullshit answers. We’re not going to get anything out of him.’

‘Not by playing nice, that’s for sure.’ The hard-faced soldier turned back to him, regarding him with a vague expression of distaste, much in the manner you’d regard a chunk of flesh splattered on your clothes after a particularly gory fight. ‘They think Raiders live here anyway. And who’s honestly going to notice one more scream in the inner city?’

The soldiers had all gone unusually quiet. MacCready tried to swallow, but his mouth was drier than the Wasteland dirt. The fuck had Maxson _done_ to the Brotherhood? This was Gunner talk. _Raiders_ tortured. Not the Brotherhood of Steel.

‘You can’t do that,’ he said, knowing full well that there was absolutely nothing to stop them. The soldiers remained silent, and a few of them looked slightly uncomfortable, but no one made a move towards their commander. She stared him down. _It’s a scare tactic,_ he told himself frantically. _They’re trying to make you panic. Slow breathing. Look for a way out._

The woman slowly drew a combat knife from her belt.

And then, because absolutely nothing in MacCready’s life was predictable or fucking _normal_ any more, a thundercrack louder than any he’d ever heard before rent the air, and suddenly the room was swarming with skeletal, dead-eyed synths wielding rifles and batons that crackled with blue electricity. MacCready threw himself from the stool immediately and  flattened himself on the floor with his hands over his head, his reflexes honed from long years alone in the Wastes; but the Brotherhood weren’t quite so quick to react, and half of them were down before the rest of them regained their senses and began firing. Too late. The synths had the element of surprise, and could take their limbs being blown off without even flinching, and every time one went down in a crackle of popping circuits, two more would burst in and take its place. The Brotherhood were as good as dead.

There wasn’t even time to think about it, time to wonder what the _fuck_ was going on; MacCready crawled on his belly across to his rifle, seized it in his hands, scrambled to press his back against the kitchen counter. He’d thought it was a miracle the synths hadn’t hit him yet, figured the bright uniforms were the main target and he’d be next...but no shots came his way. His fingers were white around his gun, teeth clenched in fear, eyes wide and flitting from one robot to the next as they systematically took out the soldiers like it was nothing. Just another order to be executed, another programme to run. He didn’t dare shoot, didn’t want to mark himself out as a target if he wasn’t already one. He watched, sweat prickling down the back of his neck, as the soldier in the power armor was finally taken out, his screams tinny and jarring through the helmet’s mouthpiece until a laserburst took him in the soft joints of the throat and all sound went dead. Despite what the Brotherhood had done to him, had been going to do him...he felt slightly sick.

And then, as quickly as they’d come, the synths were gone.

All except for one.

Tall, muscular, face half-hidden behind dark mirrored glasses, his expression was still, impassive as he surveyed the destruction and carnage. Every inch of his body was held in perfect precision, every movement calculated and methodical to the point of being almost other-worldly. He was clad all in black leather, not a single speck of dust or splatter of blood marring his long overcoat. It was as though the Wastes didn’t dare touch him. MacCready slowly raised his rifle, lining up his crosshairs on the man’s forehead. No doubt about it.

This was a Courser. And this was likely how he died.

But he’d already cheated death a thousand times that morning alone. And he hadn’t spent all those years as Mayor for nothing. Despite the fear and confusion and pain, his voice rang out cold, clear and steady in the sudden, brutal silence.

‘Don’t come any closer or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off.’

The man in the black leather longcoat took one step closer, and MacCready’s heart leapt into his throat.

The man raised one hand, forefinger outstretched, and placed it to his lips in the universal sign for _shh._

MacCready fired.

With another blinding flash of blue sparks, the man was gone, and MacCready’s bullet smashed uselessly into the wall directly behind where his right eyeball had been just moments before.

‘Fucking _shit!’_

MacCready doubled over, dropping his rifle and screaming into his hands. It was the only possible reaction left to him at this point, the only way he could even begin to express the sick, terrified maelstrom in his head, in his gut. The room stank of blood and burning flesh. He had to get out. Had to get out get as far the _fuck_ away from here as he could. His eyes locked onto the window again, and the fire escape beyond. It was all he could do to remember to grab his pack from where it lay discarded below the sill before he was scrambling to pull himself up and out, gulping in shaky lungfuls of city air.

But as he climbed, something made him glance back, to where the Courser had stood. Call it chance, call it coincidence; but something about the synth’s behaviour had been that little bit off, chiming just slightly out of tune. For whatever reason, MacCready looked back.

On the floor, directly where the Courser had stood, was a scrap of paper. New paper. Clean and white and stark against the filth of the apartment floor, one corner slowly turning crimson as it soaked up the blood and gore.

MacCready paused on the windowledge, and then slowly lowered himself back into the room again. The paper held just one single word, but it was written in a familiar messy scrawl that had MacCready’s heart threatening to beat right out of his chest. With trembling fingers, he traced the shape of the word, committing it to memory as the blood began to blur the ink.

 

_Libertalia._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a fun fact; the scene of RJ waiting atop Red Rocket and carving notches into the roof edge was the first thing I ever wrote for this fic and was, in fact, what sparked off the entire story.
> 
> MASSIVE thanks go to the wonderful Keycchan for their invaluable help with Deacon’s dialogue, bouncing ideas back and forth, and just...generally wonderful inspiring OC chatter. Please check out their amazing fic [Share Your Road](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9376751), the story of MacCready and Sole Survivor Adust. It’s the slowest of slow burns and...please just click that link you won’t regret it.
> 
> And if after this chapter you’re pining for some light-hearted Chiv and RJ interaction, I wrote a heart-achingly fluffy thing over [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11299656/chapters/26317014)!
> 
> As always you can find me on [tumblr.](http://whatshappeningcowboy.tumblr.com)
> 
> (Can you tell I just learned how to hyperlink things lmao)


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